Sanctuary
by sfiddy
Summary: Chased by clerics with evil intentions, Belle flees to an isolated village. There, an outcast and abandoned Rumplestiltskin toils under terrible obligation to support his beloved son. Two lonely candles in an ocean of darkness. A Spinner!Rum AU.
1. Chapter 1

Hi again! This story is a lot less fluffy than other work I've done, but as always, I promise a happy ending.

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Raucous laughter and the sound of heavy pewter striking wooden tabletops drifted to the slight man on the footpath outside. It took more of his strength than it should to open the heavy wooden doors. The warmth of the air and the rich smells within took his breath away for a moment and served to remind him of the urgent need to get back home.

The tavern fell quiet as the thump of his walking stick hit the boards. He was used to it.

"Milah? It's getting late. Won't you come home?"

A woman, thinner than her bones demanded though better fed than he, tossed her head and rolled her eyes. She held up a full mug of drink and waved at him, draping the same arm across the shoulders of a rough and cruel looking seafarer.

"Please, Milah." He said, trying not to plead.

"What is this, Milah? Is it yours?" The man she had chosen to favor asked, pointing casually in the general direction of the man firmly gripping the walking stick. It steadied his hands.

Milah plucked her clothing, just shabby enough that anyone could see that she wouldn't say no to the right offer. "That," She said, pressing herself to the man's chest. "That is Rumplestiltskin. My husband." The woman grinned with cruelty fostered by drunkenness. "Why, are you jealous?"

The tavern erupted in laughter and Rumplestiltskin wavered. Whether she knew it or not, Milah had thrown a gauntlet.

"Milah, please. We need you at home. Just come with me and I'll take care of you."

The large man whose lap she'd occupied stood and placed his hand on his sword. "I think she can stay as long as she likes. Or do you plan, as her husband, to compel her? Or me?"

He trembled. Clutching the stick now was no help. "Our boy. He needs her. Please, let her come home."

Milah staggered and lifted her mug in a toast, said not a word, and drank. The ale spilled over the edge of the mug, dribbled over her neck and left droplets trailing into her tunic. The hand on the sword gripped harder as the man saw a prize to be achieved.

"Rumplestiltskin, I believe your son is hungry. Go feed him." The man never took his eyes off Milah's breasts.

"He needs his mother. Please Milah." He was begging openly, and addressed the man directly. "She's my wife!"

The man was infuriated. "Is that how it works here? Then claim her, runt!" He stepped forward and shoved Rumplestiltskin backwards. "If you want your woman, take her!" The man's voice dropped to a growl. "Or are you too much of a coward to take back what is yours?"

The tavern hushed. He knew he should fight. That's what men did when they were threatened, when someone tried to do wrong by them, take their wife. But not him. Even if he won, and Milah was obliged to come home, she would hate him and probably their son as well.

But he wouldn't win. He was cold, tired, and hungry and he had to think of Bae. If he fought, he risked injury that might keep him from working or, worse, he'd be hurt badly enough that he'd have to rely on help from his five year old son.

So, to the roaring laughter and catcalls of the tavern, he took his only real option: he walked away. A few small projectiles hit his back as he went.

Silver pieces.

"Those are from me! You can tell your son that Killian Jones bought his supper tonight." Milah was in the man's arms again.

If he picked up the silver, he'd sold his wife. But he'd be able to feed Bae for a week.

He made one last attempt. "Come home, won't you, Milah? To Bae?" He could feel his lips trembling, his voice shaking out the words. "Your son?"

Her eyes reflected the hurt, but it was too late. Years with him had taken too much from her. She turned her back and took another full mug.

The silver pieces glinted on the floor in the firelight, and he prayed no one would kick him as he stooped to pick them up. He no longer had space for pride, that feeling for men with plump cozy wives, pink cheeked children, and clothes that kept out the wind. It was after sunset, and Bae was hungry. Porridge did not cook itself.

...

...

The Marchlands were under siege. Red skies in the distance threatened the normally pink and yellow sunrise as the breadbakers and egg sellers scurried far below at the market stalls. At her window, La Fille de Marquis Isabelle Marie deFiler Patrie, Belle to her childhood nurse, daughter of the Duke and only heir to the rich lands and the castle that commanded them, watched the market as events swirled around her.

An advisor droned to her father, Sir Maurice. "The match would ensure access to not only Sir Gaston's men, but to aid from King George as well as training for our archers."

"And horses? Armor? Food for the people here?" Sir Maurice was not a strategist, but he knew enough. "What about medical supplies and healers? If they wish to use us as the front, then I demand the support needed!"

Scribes flicked their quills, composed missives and outlined contracts. That she would be married to this Gaston was a given. The question was the amount of compensation to her homeland for acting as the buffer zone and strategic gambit to the rest of the realm in an Ogre war.

"I am assured that Sir Gaston is able to provide any and all needed supplies, both for the actual war as well as for the expected effects and suffering it will no doubt bring. He is prepared to send the first wagon loads once his suit is accepted, then more as the public announcements and arrangements are made."

Belle admired a handsome cart of pigs destined for market. Another cart was heavy with fruit from the orchards on the southern side of the castle.

"I'd like an apple." She murmured.

"Sir Gaston also intends to provide the people with spiritual help and guidance, and promises to build a fine monastery where your people can find comfort."

Sheaves of wheat and sacks of grain moved below. Belle wondered if Sir Gaston had ever been hungry.

"If the ogres can be beaten back, then he may build as large a monastery as he wishes."

A chime rang out through the castle announcing the noon meal.

"Counselors, we should retire to the hall and eat. Let us continue these talks and return here tonight." Sir Maurice swept across the room to his daughter. "Dear child, you will be second only to a queen when all is said and done. Through this match we will ensure safety for the entire realm!" He kissed her forehead and patted her shoulder. "Oh my, that open window lets in a draft!" Sir Maurice pulled the window shut and laid the heavy curtain over it, leaving the room dim and stuffy. "We will see you tonight, my dear!"

The last of her 'guests' left the room, the door shut behind them by her guards, and bolted from the outside.

No one brought her an apple.

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	2. Chapter 2

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Able bodied men were plucked from the town and hauled off to war, never to be seen again. The workload of the village fell to the old men and young boys, then the women. Their faces grew more drawn and hardened, and there was less and less to go around. Less to share, even if it was for Bae and not the town coward, Rumplestiltskin.

He'd sold everything they did not need in the first year they were alone. Decorative touches in their hut had been few and rather roughhewn, but they fetched a few coppers when the pirate's silver pieces ran out and his hands bled too much to spin. Now, midway through the second year, with the war in neighboring provinces and conscription stealing their strongest men, no one had the money to buy his usual heavy woolen yarns. His spinning wheel was adjusted and set to spin twines and rough rope for sale to the army, but it was hard work and required him to prepare bale after bale of hemp straw. They spent half the day beating and soaking straws to soften them and the other half spinning while somehow, with cuts in his hands burning and sweat running off him, he kept a meal ready for Bae and tried to teach him the trade. Six year old boys wear out easily, and Bae needed naps after thrashing the straw. After dark, when Bae was tucked up in bed, Rumplestiltskin mended clothes, washed the cook pot, and rinsed off the grime from his long day.

Twice a week they went to the village market and sold all he made. Usually they had enough extra to buy a bit of meat from the monger on the way back to supplement the rabbit or two they caught in the garden. Milah had kept a garden, though not very well at the end, but potatoes are hardy and come back every year. The herbs were gone, and the peas long fallen from the trellis. A few carrots managed to grow in the hard packed soil, and though Bae did his best with the rake, he wasn't strong enough to work the heavy earth. Rumplestiltskin needed to remember to turn the soil for next year. Bae could just do the weeding.

This night was a lean one. They were running low on potatoes and the local hens were laying fewer eggs, so the women were even less willing to sell to him. Once in a while he caught one of the village women giving Bae a sausage or a cooked egg, and he was careful to pretend he didn't see. As much as he wanted to believe they were being kind, he knew that there were daughters in those houses, and eventually they would need husbands. The world had eaten up all the men, and the women of the village were planning ahead.

Despite these little gifts, Bae was a growing boy and his tummy was always empty. Rumplestiltskin feigned a lack of appetite and settled for a few spoonfuls of porridge, filling Bae's bowl instead. The boy ate well once he was convinced his father had enough and was soon sleepy. He bathed and tumbled into the pile of furs they shared to sleep as only a child can.

Rumplestiltskin could feel the deepening chill in the night air and reminded himself to fetch the extra furs from upstairs. Winter would come hard and soon if the crisp zing was any indication. The garden would freeze and they would subsist on grain and storage for the winter. Though he knew it would not be enough, he prayed that it would at least get them through.

He was desperately tired, but there was a winter to prepare for. He had piles of softened hemp ready, but he'd managed to barter rope for a few bags of fine wool clippings. After all, what good is having the sheep if you cannot move them anywhere?

The brushes he had not used in months were in his tool box, and he began to card and clean the fibers slowly and carefully. He would make this gamble. He had to. There was a notable shortage of finery since the wars had begun years ago, and the bite had gone deeper recently.

As Rumplestiltskin settled in to spin, Bae's soft, deep breathing set the tempo for the work.

**…**

**…**

Belle's hands were unused to real work. They cramped as she worked the scissors through the rough old sails to cut strips. The fabric had yet to be waterproofed so they would make good bandages, and, alongside her maids, she rolled the strips into packets ready for use in the field.

In truth, she did not mind. It was her place to provide aid and comfort, and if that meant pulling weeds or boiling water, she would do it. It also meant she had time in her own head, away from the court, the advisors, and the constant watching eyes. The only people here were also working and merely correcting or aiding her, not seeking leverage or a weakness to exploit later.

It was menial, dirty, and exhausting, but it was honest.

She was sent to work alongside her fellows as a sign of her intent to stay through the fighting. It meant some privation, though nothing like her father's subjects. Men returned from the front in pieces, and Belle was allowed only to prepare the supplies, not actually see to the men.

Sir Gaston would not have his future wife gazing upon men in a state of undress, but it didn't stop her ears hearing their screams or whimpers of pain. Her maids brought stories of horrors, and their eyes slipped out of focus when they sat quietly. When Isabelle was allowed out of the castle walls, she walked as close to the market as Gaston's guards allowed and noted the slim offerings there. She heard that much of the orchard had been cut down to build weapons, barracks and barricades. The garden plots of peasants had been usurped and seasonal bounty taken to feed the men at the front.

Children grew reedy and Belle snuck pillow-soft rolls stuffed with bits of chicken and fat in her cloak pockets, passing them to their mothers while they rolled bandages together. She knew it wasn't much, and would never be enough, but she hated the fear in their eyes when the commissars made their rounds.

The clerics were the worst, demanding not just the lifeblood of the town but insisting that they be jolly for it. It was easy for them to say when this wasn't their home, wasn't their blood, and the dark brown cloaks they wore were whole and had heavy hoods. Glory was easy to find when the sky wasn't red with your own blood.

Gaston had sent her a silken wrap and matching slippers made from the King's own fabric bolts. She never wore them but when he demanded audience with her. It was childish, but Belle felt ashamed to wear them when her own maid's sisters were folding layers of burlap into their children's cloaks. Even her work dresses seemed too rich these days. She stood out like a peacock in the midst of crows.

One day, Belle realized there were too many men in and around the hospital. There weren't enough men in the Marchlands to have so many bodies there.

"Who are they all?" She whispered to a maid.

"They're from everywhere. All over, my Lady." The maid pointed around the room. "Those are from the Lowlands, those there are from the River Valley, these are from the Frontlands…"

"Stop! Please!" Belle choked. "Why so many?"

"They believe the war is making a turn. Conscripts from all the realm are here. They say the ogres are entrenched with no escape, and that we have a new weapon that has turned the tide."

"But they're wounded!" Belle gasped. "So many!"

"Yes, Lady Isabelle," A cleric slid alongside her, accompanied by a soldier. "But there are so many more still strong enough to fight. And win. We will vanquish this enemy and return peace and prosperity." The cleric eyed her, appraisingly. "You would do well to remain indoors, my Lady. These are rough sights for eyes pretty as yours. I doubt Sir Gaston would approve."

A chill shot through Belle's bones and she ran.

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	3. Chapter 3

Notes: FYI- I lost all my flash drives recently and, along with *lots* of other things, the most recent draft of Sanctuary at the time. I've spent the last week reconstructing the scenes I lost and it's a terribly painful process. I may update a bit slower for a while as I try to stay far ahead so I can add and fill in detailing without disrupting the story. I promise not abandon it as long as you promise to be patient so I can do a good job. Deal? Deal!

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It took two weeks to spin it all, working in between the orders for ropes and rough twines. Rumplestiltskin had to keep his hands treated with lanolin to close any cuts and soften his skin so he could apply the correct pressure to delicate fibers, keeping the threads slim and tight.

He avoided thinking about his sore hands and the late hour by remembering why he was doing it. He had to protect and care for Bae, for if he could not, then clerics might try to take and raise him as a child of the monastery, or he'd be sent as a child soldier. He may not fight, but the boys in the luggage were as much at risk as the soldiers on the line.

In the end he had a fair pile of spools that he'd dyed with the powdered ochre and the last of the indigo from far better days. He used the last saffron threads to add depth to the dried dandelion dye for a nice yellow and the bitters from nut husks made a soft brown. The dye had set the tight spin on the threads perfectly and left them smooth enough to slip through fine fabrics without drag.

If this didn't support them, then he was all out of ideas.

At sunrise, with barely a few hours of sleep and an empty stomach, Rumplestiltskin woke his son. "Bae? Son, we've got to go. Breakfast is on the hob and we'll leave once you've eaten."

"Papa?" Bae rubbed his eyes sleepily.

"Yes, Bae?" Rumplestiltskin carefully packed his wares into his travel bag and set a wrapped meal for them on top.

"Can we visit the sweet shop at market?"

"If there's time and enough left after the sale." He sold regularly at the local market, and directly to the army, but there was no one in the village who could afford what he was selling today, so they had to leave much earlier than usual to walk to the next biggest town. If he was lucky, he might be able to sell to a local tailor or the tapestry maker.

They left their two room hut soon after daybreak and set a gentle pace for the neighboring town of Longbourne. Without a cart, it would take them at least two hours to walk, so there was no time to dawdle if he wanted to make a sale during the height of the market.

When they arrived, the bustle was immense. "Papa! Look, there are jugglers and shows and sweets and can you see the pretty ladies over there?"

Rumplestiltskin smiled at his son. They were isolated at home, and the relative anonymity afforded by another town freed them both. "If you want, Bae, you can go watch the juggler while I get started." The boy began to run off but Rumplestiltskin caught his arm. "Just stay where I can see you. If you can do that, I promise you can get a sweet before we leave."

Bae flitted off and stood near a stall as his father began to seek out the tailor in the hopes of selling the entire lot of fine threads he'd made. He could get a better price if he sold them one spool at a time, but that might take all day, and be more work than he had energy for. Plus, if he could secure a single buyer it might mean a repeat customer, even regular deliveries.

Or a discount on clothes. Bae was growing fast.

In the end, the tailor bought half of the thread, and asked Rumplestiltskin to return. If the thread was strong and sold well, he would buy more. It was better than what he'd arrived with, so he whistled for Bae and let the boy pull him by the arm towards the sweets.

"Papa! Do you see? They have honey bread!"

A copper bought four dense, sticky rolls and a loaf to carry home. They sat at the edge of the market square and feasted, licking the heavy glaze from their fingers. Rumplestiltskin laughed at the shiny dollop stuck on Bae's nose, and helped him to the trough by the well to clean his face.

"Are you the man who sold thread to the tailor?"

A huge man, uniformed and armed, had tapped his shoulder and was evaluating him. Fear lanced through Rumplestiltskin, sending prickles along his scalp and he tucked Bae behind him. He could almost hear the jeering begin, as if they'd followed him from home and had only just caught up to him.

"I say, man. Are you deaf? Mute? Did you or did you not sell the thread?"

His voice caught, but he managed a noise in the affirmative and a nod of his head. Bae popped his head out from behind Rumplestiltskin's back. "You shouldn't scare people like that."

His father, eyes wide with terror for his son, knowing what big men thought of beggar children, shoved Bae under his cloak and bowed his head. "Pardon, sir! He's a wee boy and doesn't know his betters yet."

The soldier looked down at the little feet peeking out from under the rough cloak. He laughed. "The boy has nothing to fear from me. If you are the seller, then the lady of the castle would like to purchase the remainder of your wares. She visited the tailor and saw the thread, and now demands it for her embroidery. Is there more? I am authorized to offer you a handsome sum, and am bid to ask if you would be her supplier."

He froze. A patron. He might have a fine lady as his patron. Bae would never go hungry and never have to wear scratchy burlap again. He could afford better materials, and… As he leaned over to transfer the spools to the soldier's waiting satchel, a length of rope flopped out.

"Hang on, man. I know this rope." The soldier held up the sample. "Yes, this is the only rope we use with the horses. We can tie ogres with it and…" The man lowered his voice. "It's in particular demand by the castle as well. Treason, cowards… you know."

"I, I thought I was selling to the army."

"You were, good man. Now that the men are coming home, well… there are scores to settle." The soldier took the spools of thread. "I will let the lady know I found you, and that you'll visit when you have another lot to sell." The soldier handed him a heavy, jingling bag. "We'll be by for more rope. Necks don't stretch themselves. Make sure you make enough." The soldier raised an eyebrow at him, then strode away and was joined by two more. They formed up and marched into the woods on a well-worn path towards a few turrets that peeked out above the tree line in the distance.

He didn't need to count how much was in the bag. It was a lot. Far more than he expected. Too much to linger for no good reason.

"Let's go, Bae. We've had a good day." He stabbed his walking stick into the earth and made his way towards home.

"Papa?"

"Yes, Bae?"

"Why did he say that about men's necks?"

Rumplestiltskin's stomach rolled. He would burn in hell for the deal he'd just made. His and his son's comfort in exchange for the means of execution.

"I don't know, Bae." He lied. "I don't know."

…

…

Victory was expensive, both in gold and lives. Burial ceremonies for the men of status would take weeks and fill every square inch of sacred ground. Pyres would be maintained day and night for at least as long, to hungrily feast upon the bodies of conscripted peasants and laborers from around the realm. If they were lucky, their mothers and widows would receive a little leather bag stuffed with a mix of ash from the pyres and a few pieces of silver to ease their loss.

Belle watched the heave of the market below, less a place for trade now and more a highway for goods and materials brought back from the front. Some, like the heavy timbers and planks left from the barracks, could be repurposed for housing. The dead, stacked five deep on the carts, were given wide berth as they were directed away from the main roads and towards the columns of smoke in the distance.

"A glorious sight, Lady Isabelle." Gaston intoned reverently from above her shoulder.

Belle searched the view below for something fitting the description. "Glorious, my lord? I see death. I see loss. I see the market that might feed my father's subjects is now a depot for the spoils of war."

"The spoils include mounds of gold to rebuild. The clerics also, for the wood will build their monastery and create a great mission to further the praise of he who delivered us our victory."

Belle blinked. Mentions of religious praise to a deity were not unusual, but they had become more personified of late. The distant smoke billowed in the breeze. "Your gods exact a high price."

"He is but one. We need no more." Gaston closed his fingers tightly over her shoulder and spun her around. One of the maids yelped for her. "You would do well to watch your tongue, Lady." He pressed his massive body against her, nudging into her. "He does as I bid and he has promised you to me as reward for my benevolence to you and your people."

With her stays and Gaston pressing into her ribs, Belle had to work for her breath. "I am… payment?"

"Not you, precisely." Gaston toyed with her hair idly. "Your father's lands and holdings. But, my Lady, lands cannot birth me my sons, and blood ties are paramount. You," He pulled her to his chest by her hair. "You are the key. The inheritance your title carries will position me to challenge King George one day. All you need worry about is," Gaston looked down the small gap in her bodice. "Your position to me."

Horror animated her features as comprehension dawned and she started to struggle. Gaston released her before the chaperones corrected him. "Lady, you will accompany me as I survey the last of the men who return from the front. At dawn, I will obtain your complete consent." Gaston slammed the doors of her chamber-prison open, laughter echoing off the stones of the hall.

The next morning, Belle was awoken by her maids and dressed warmly in between bites of porridge fortified with cream. Winter chill was in the morning air and it threatened to cut her even through the warmest wool layers and cloaks she had. She tucked her hands into a soft muff and kept her hood up.

Guards escorted her from her chamber and delivered her to her father's waiting arm. Guards and her father escorted her to Gaston's arm, who secured her there with a hand over hers. It may have looked affectionate from the outside, but his iron grip that locked her in place.

A new observation balcony had been built at the gates of their modest castle. Before, when there was something to see, she merely walked down the stairs. Now, she was ten or more feet above the ground, surveying the entry to the courtyard, brown, trampled and beyond recognition. Her flowerbeds were gone, and the roses, which would have tolerated even the harshest winters with minimal care, were shredded and twiggy against the far wall.

Gaston, having watched her closely, noted her gaze. "I could not afford to have spots of gaiety when this was coming, my Lady." He leered at her. "Besides, in time you'll be too busy to worry about flowers."

She suppressed a shudder. "What's coming?"

Gaston smiled as the tall courtyard doors opened. "The cowards."

Belle watched as a line of men, if they could be called that, were shoved inside the doors. They were chained together, shackled and stumbling. Hooded clerics lined either side of them and, bringing up the rear, a final figure who walked alone. His hood was larger and completely obscured his face, but eyes, strange, deep set eyes caught glints of light that reflected off the plate armor and shields of the soldiers lining the courtyard.

The figure bowed to the balcony. Gaston nodded in return, then he pulled Belle over until she bent in half. "Bow to your people's guardian, Lady Isabelle."

Breathless and shocked, she straightened when Gaston allowed. "Who is that?"

"That, dear Lady, is my slave. The Dark One." Winds began to howl as the line of shackled men below were stripped of their shirts. Gaston's smile was cruel and harsh. "He ensured our victory. Those you see here did not believe. They ran. Traitors"

"Fear does not make a man a traitor. It makes him afraid."

Gaston gripped her arm hard enough to bruise. "They defied me whilst in my service. While under my command." He punctuated his words with tugs to unbalance her. The men were turned to expose their backs to the balcony, one cleric behind each of them, one in front.

The Dark One stood motionless, staring up at them.

"They must be cleansed of their contagion." Gaston declared. "Made clean and pure. Are you familiar with the study of demons, my Lady?"

Belle was shaking, but not from the cold. She could not tear her eyes away from the horrific scene unfolding. She shook her head.

"Demons hide in the blood, my Lady. They settle in every nook. It must be drawn." The clerics withdrew their arms from the sleeves of their heavy cloaks, revealing lengths of rope woven together to form a handle with freely swinging ends. Gaston leaned to her ear. "It must be drawn to the surface."

Gaston waved his hand and the ropes came down upon the men's backs with a hollow thump. Red marks immediately formed. Belle's mouth fell open and she tried to look away, but her betrothed forced her to face forward. Fingers gripped the back of her head and neck and squeezed. "We must draw the poison that weakens them to the surface. Those ropes have already tasted lives, so are the perfect instruments of removal."

More blows rained on the men and their backs reddened, deepening to nauseating, swollen purple. Belle cried for the men who, one by one, fell to their knees before the clerics. Her maids had fled to cower behind the balcony, weeping quietly. The Dark one did not move.

Finally, when the men were motionless wrecks on the mud, Gaston raised his hand again. Belle sobbed in relief, hoping that their punishment had been met and seen worthy.

Then the clerics lifted slim, evil blades. They flashed in the thin winter light.

Gaston, nostrils flaring, caressed the back of her head and forced her forward to watch. "Then, we remove the poison."

...

Late that night, numb and curled in her bed, Belle's maids did their bed to tempt her with broth and tea to calm her horror and the heaving that wracked her stomach long after the display was over.

"Miss, please! You must try to eat! Anything!"

"Take it away. Please leave." When she was left with only her old nursemaid, the woman who had known her long before war came and Belle found herself made into chattel, Belle finally sat up and leaned into the pillows. "There is evil here."

"War is evil, my Lady. So is the madness it sets in men."

"No, I mean Gaston. Something evil has taken root in him. It has only grown worse over the course of the year."

"Aye, Lady. It's his demon and the power he has over it. A man should never have so much at his command. It breaks him inside. Makes monsters of them."

"One wonders what is worse." Belle sighed. "This or ogres."

Her gray haired nurse grimaced. "I can see an ogre coming clear as day. This…" She shook her head.

Belle laid back down. "There must be a way. He says he needs my bloodline to claim the Marchlands. That will position him to challenge the King."

"Politics. That's your father's place, not mine. I see that you're fed, well, pretty and strong." The old nurse lifted Belle's face up with a finger under her chin. "If you get ideas in that head, don't you go telling me your plans. All you have to do is say what you need."

…

Her gown was rich. The banquet was lavish. Belle could not eat.

The Dark One stared at her throughout the dinner, the announcement, and the dance. He was a silent shadow that moved throughout the room, looming in corners and carrying a cloud of impenetrable cold and dread around him.

That dread gripped her by the neck as she sat next to Gaston during the dessert course, after the formal announcement of their engagement. The King's emissary awarded Gaston with chests filled with treasure for the role the Marchlands played in ending the years and years of threat from the Ogres.

Belle slipped away from Gaston's grasp when his attention was taken by the mounds of gold that were rightfully her father's. It was his homeland, his people, and his lands that had been scorched black by war, not Gaston's. The injustice and futility of it all made her chest constrict tighter despite the boned corset and laces. She needed to breathe air away from the stuffy hall and away from the grasping, cruel monster that she was bound to.

There was one garden that remained. It was tiny and neglected, but a few bushes and beds remained, a few covered with cloths for the night. The walkway was hewn flagstones laid in a pleasing pattern of pink, brown and cream. She could almost make out the colors in the dark, though remembered where each was from games she played as a child.

"Good evening, Lady."

Belle spun and clutched her skirts. There was no one to be seen. "Where are you? Show yourself or I'll scream!"

"I wouldn't want that. Besides, our Lord might take offense." A form materialized, shadows coalesced into physical shape and walked away from the far wall. "I wanted to congratulate you, Lady, on all your success."

"You're… you're the Dark One, are you not?"

"Indeed. You are Lady Isabelle. Betrothed of my master." It wasn't a question, and Belle did not respond with an affirmation. "You are aware, then, that I am a slave to him?"

"He called you such, yes." Belle released her skirts and stood warily. "As I will be to him as well."

"Only if you allow it, Lady. It's all in the blood. That's all any of them want."

Belle felt her face and palms grow clammy. Even the word was upsetting now, after the show Gaston forced her to watch. "I am aware of what blood means to Gaston."

"No, you clearly aren't." The solid mass glided along the stones towards her. "Stupid girl, do you want to be captive, brood sow, and whipping post? Think, woman!"

"How dare you. I have no choice."

"There is always a choice, Lady. It's your blooded title he's after. It's what they're _all_ after." The hood slipped a fraction and rotten teeth grinned from a glittering jaw. "He'll enjoy splitting you apart and breeding you a few times. What happens to you after you spill his sons from your cunt is of no interest to him. He might even enjoy disposing of you. It's your choice."

Belle recoiled. She'd heard rough speech, especially lately, but it had never been directed at her person. And the idea of Gaston's massive body suffocating her… "You speak in vulgarity and riddles. Speak plain or speak none at all."

"I cannot, Lady." He spat. "I am his slave! All I can offer is this: Your blooded title is the prize. What avenue is left to remove that prize?"

Belle thought. "And what is in it for you? The Dark One does nothing without payment."

"Lady," He giggled. "My payment will come once there is disarray. I will find my reward, and so shall these lands, never you think on it."

The Dark One retreated back to the wall and dissipated back into the darkened angles and corners of the small garden. Belle pressed a hand to her chest, trying to settle the hard pounding in her chest that threatened to burst forth from her corset.

Blooded title. So much blood. But he said her lands would find reward, and that was enough for her. She had nothing else.

.


	4. Chapter 4

Welcome back! I reconstructed most of what I lost from the flash drives. Rebuilding continuity now. :)

* * *

Rumplestiltskin regarded the bag of coin on his rough table. It was a fine sum. Not enough to propel him out of his circumstances, but enough that the next meal was assured for some time. If more was to come after, then he might even be able to reclaim some of his dwindled status.

The possibilities. Bae could select his apprenticeship rather than be forced to learn only from him. They could enter the shops by the front doors rather than handle their business at the rear. He could rent a stall at the market and sell openly, rather than living as a permanent journeyman, selling his wares door to door.

Or have those awful soldiers knocking at his door. He cursed that his hands always shook when they came for more rope. It would be worse now that he knew what they used it for.

With the end of the war, men returned to the village. They trickled in slowly, limping if they could walk at all or sitting in carts if they could not. A few were dragged back lying in leather hammocks pulled by mules, condemned to be burdens to their already overworked mothers and wives.

Their eyes avoided him at all costs. The women grumbled louder these days, but were glad their men were home, those that had men come home to them. The women that had left, either because they found the strain too much or they had no reasons or children to remain behind for, meant that a few men were available.

Even a weak man was a man, after all.

Within weeks, men proudly stepped, limped, or rolled out of their homes and loudly declared themselves married, or referred to the woman by their side as their wife. Quieter men held small events, toasting their joys together over the last drops of wine from the prior season, or merely lived under the same roof long enough for marriage to be assumed. The last stragglers from the front were swiftly visited or invited to stay with the family of a young lady, fearful of spinsterhood. A polite scandal occurred when a childless widow simply invited herself in a man's home and cooked him dinner. He declared her his wife the next day.

No women came to Rumplestiltskin's door, or accidentally dropped things in his path as an excuse to chat with him.

…

The knock on the door startled Bae. Rumplestiltskin had expected it for some days. The big soldier was waiting outside the door along with a small troupe of armed escorts.

"You are the rope and threadmaker?" The helmet made the man's voice reverberate strangely. It was disquieting.

"Y-yes. We met at the market by the well."

The soldier laughed. "Oh, yes. The man with the sticky boy. What is your name, spinner? I would not care, except that the lady who wants your thread desires to know the name of her supplier."

Bae dropped his brushes and the wool he had been carding and before his father could stop him, he cried out. "That's my papa!"

"Hush, boy!" Rumplestiltskin desperately tried to push Bae back to work, but the boy was flush with pride and a full belly. "Pardon my son, please." He held out the wares the men had come for, pleading in his mind that they would simply take it and leave as quickly as possible.

"He is Rumplestiltskin!"

The soldiers, who had been talking amongst themselves behind their commander, fell silent. They filled the doorframe and cast a dark shadow into the shabby home. The commander smirked. "Oh. The runner." He took the offered coils of rope and spools of thread Rumplestiltskin was holding out and handed the thread to his comrades. He held out the rope, admiring it. "Ironic, isn't it, Rumplestiltskin? The runner now trades his soul for comfort, while producing the means to rid the earth of his fellow vermin."

Rumplestiltskin shook, gripping the door. "Please. You have what you came for."

"Indeed, I do." The soldier swung his arm and Rumplestiltskin braced himself to be cuffed. Instead, a bag of coin struck the floor, spilling silver and copper across the floor at his son's feet. "And now you may have one more thing, spinner." The soldier lowered his voice to a dangerous snarl. "My name. I am Hordor, and were you in my command all those years ago, I would have cleansed your soul of demons myself and hung you from the gates with your own ropes until your body dropped from your neck."

Hordor leaned back and casually handed the twists of rope to his men, ignoring the terrified little man. "The ladies of the court will be pleased with the colors, I think. They say even the Queen has used it. We'll be back in a fortnight for the next lot you have ready." He leaned by Rumplestilskin's ear again. "It's nice to see that your son is brave. What a pity that the ogres are gone. He might have made a good fighter. Maybe he still will." Hordor laughed and left, slapping his men on the back and trampling over the last garden onions wrapped in grasses on the front stoop.

The cold wind fought the door and Rumplestiltskin had to throw his meagre weight against it to shut it. He leaned into it, barred it, and panted as he dropped his walking stick, slipping to the floor.

"Papa? Papa, look! There's silvers in the bag! Can I have a copper for some honey bread?" Bae set himself to gathering up the coins and brought the bag to his father.

Rumplestiltskin dropped the bag as if it were cursed, and stayed with his back against the door until Bae had finished brushing the wool for his night's spinning. Feeling ashamed for being the man he was and wasting time while Bae worked, Rumplestiltskin braced his weight and rose, started their evening meal, and settled himself at the wheel. He spun deep into the night, letting the wheel's soft scrapes and thumps calm his mind even as he dug his hole deeper.

…

Weeks passed, and while Rumplestiltskin no longer had to skip as many meals, he still found himself strained to finish work every day. With Bae's help, he managed to prepare a section of the garden for winter, and repaired the worst of the holes in their walls and roof that allowed winter drafts to chill them or even wreck their fire overnight. Bae was strong enough now at nearly seven to gather and carry the ash from the fire to the local pit, but once one small chore was released from his day, ten took its place.

Work around their home kept him tied close to the house for the day, and he would only venture away for minutes at a time, knowing that Bae was still young and prone to foolishness. In return for cooking twine, a neighbor would watch him from time to time, but it was not the same. And he still had to manage all the household business, tend Bae and his clothes, most of the laundering, cooking and cleaning in addition to his work at the wheel and rope twist.

If he worked himself to the bone, they would survive, but little else. There were not enough hours in the day. There never would be.

…

...

Gaston's appetites grew daily, even as his face hollowed and became crueler. He was obsessed with his pet clergy and the overlord he placed with them. His slave, the Dark One, was ever present now, sometimes accompanying him as he visited Belle.

Every time, Belle felt the demon's gaze fixed on her.

Her betrothed waved down at the street below her chamber. "Lady Isabelle, do you see how your beloved market returns? I have brought back merchants and wares. Your town prospers again." Gaston smugly pressed himself to her back, fetid breath from too much wine and rich food soured the air she breathed.

"But they sell only goods from other lands. Is there nothing from the village for sale?" Her father's subjects had suffered so much, and now their livelihoods are stolen by this madman.

"No, this finery can only be found far away. My army has moved on to find treasure to adorn your dirty walls." He palmed her through her gown, unseen by her maids and the chaperones. "In less than a month, Lady, we shall be wed. Then…" He gripped her side. "Then you'll be mine."

With a final squeeze, he released her and walked to the door. The guards, escorts, and chaperones filed out behind him.

The Dark One left last and murmured softly, for her hears only. "Blood ties."

…

The day before a noble wedding meant preparations. Servants whirled to finish decorations, cleaning, hanging the finest tapestries, and repairing or disguising the evidence of more than a year of neglect due to war, privation, and abuse.

The morning was for the public viewing of the engaged couple, so Belle was draped in the finest silks and laces in the kingdom. Her hair was washed and carefully set in ringlets piled upon her head and caged by a magnificent diadem more befitting a queen than a the noble born daughter of small principality. The balcony that overlooked the courtyard, freshly covered with new sawdust to hide the bloodstains, was warmed by braziers and protected from the intermittent snows by a gauzy tent. Flowers made from folded silks were set in crystal vases that sparkled in the dimmest light, making a breathtaking contrast of winter and spring, muted white and warm color.

Belle ate nothing. Her old nurse fretted, but understood. "You'll tell me, won't you? If you need anything?"

Belle nodded, the slight motion setting the tiny sprays of gems on her head twinkling.

"You look like a queen, my Lady." The old woman set a curl back into place.

"He means me to be a queen. Though I think he wants to be king far more." Belle refolded her hands, trying not to disturb all of her maid's hard work. "I'm not really sure what he wants now. Not anymore."

The nurse gently patted Belle's hair and held her hands. "Men like him… well, men like him are why there are women like you."

Belle felt her spine brace. What happened to her was immaterial. The fate of too many was at stake.

…

More people than she expected were in attendance in the courtyard. It was clear, however, by the ring of clerics and armed soldiers, that the local populace had been forced to appear despite the chill and snow.

"People of the Marchlands!" Gaston announced. "On the morrow, you become members of the greatest kingdom in the realm! The peace you paid for with your blood, your fields, and your homes will be repaid manifold by your King and the allies he brings. New trade routes have been carved between your towns and villages and towns to these larger territories."

Behind and off to the side, Belle watched as Gaston spoke to the crowded courtyard. The words were right and the look was right, but she knew the core was rotten. Clerics grinned up at the balcony. The Dark One watched from behind, never taking his strange eyes off her. Gaston went nowhere without his demon, and the demon never failed to whisper his little reminders in her ear.

_It's your blood he's after in every sense, Lady. What recourse have you but one?_

"And so, residents of Avonlea and the surrounding lands, I present your Lady, my betrothed, The Lady Isabelle!" Gaston reached behind him without looking and pulled her forward by her wrist, jostling her delicate curls and rustling the gown.

Gaston knelt before her, a mockery of affection and humility. "Lady, will you have me as your own, a leader to your lands, beacon to your people, father to your children, and as your Lord?"

Belle's insides clenched. For a moment, he was dripping in the fetid blood of frightened men. She blinked, and his suit of white and blue returned. "Why?"

Gaston's pleasant features twisted. "Why, what?" He froze his false smile, pretending patience.

"Why should I? You've shown me nothing but brutality, my people despair despite promises of prosperity, and you bring them." She pointed at the clerics. "Why must your soldiers be armed when they stand behind my countrymen except to threaten them?"

Gaston stood and loomed over her. "Did you expect me to be your fawning lover? Did you think me a patron of your beauty?" He sneered. "Did you think I would turn into a pup over you for love?"

"No. I never expected love or your affection. And I could live without kindness if you were fair, but you aren't."

Gaston yanked her by the arm and the crowd gasped. "Are you suggesting that you might refuse me?" Belle's voice caught, unable to answer. "Because I have an alternative for you." He pulled her to the edge of the balcony and called forth a group of clerics. "You may refuse my suit, keeping your status and residence in Avonlea if," the clerics looked up. "If you serve as a maidservant to our good clerics."

Cries of dismay rose from the crowd. Belle knew why. Her maids had freedom to associate with soldiers and often told bawdy tales of their conquests and the pleasure to be had in their beds or anywhere else that was convenient and suited their purpose. But they never spoke of those that went to the clerics. Their slaves had no rights to their person and might spend their days endlessly scrubbing the same floor or, so the maids whispered, used in unspeakable ways. Ways these worldly women did not speak of, even in hushed tones.

Belle would be the center of attention in their cloister for the rest of her truncated life.

"But first, of course," Gaston licked her ear. "Your soul would require cleansing." A man in the crowd vomited. Belle turned her head a degree and caught the Dark One staring.

The hood moved in a nod.

"And if I abdicate my title?" The Dark One raised his head, flashes of his ruined teeth grinned at her.

Gaston laughed. It was a high pitched, nervous sound. "Do you really think you could survive without being fed and watered, Lady? Can you even dress yourself?"

"It would be worth it."

"Just to avoid my bed? I could make you a queen." Gaston's eyes wandered to her bodice again.

"What is a queen if her people are enslaved?"

Gaston's silence was her answer. "You would have to make it permanent, Lady. No chance of coming back, no glorious return of the conquering savior." The clerics were stepping forward. "You would live in dirt and never be worthy of my bed or my boot." His hold bruised her, his breath sickened her, but his words were laced with the desperation she wanted to hear. His eyes were no longer on her, but fixed upon the Dark One, who had advanced to within a few feet of them.

"Then, hear me now, people of Avonlea!" She shouted as loud as she could, deep breaths burning her throat with the crisp, cold air. "I hereby abdicate my position, my title, and all blood claims to this castle and the lands around it! I will not rule as Gaston's wife and subject you to him. I hereby release you all from my service!"

The Dark One cackled as Gaston screamed. In the resulting melee, Belle broke free and ran to her chambers, a few maids and her old nurse hard on her heels. When she reached her chamber, she slammed open her closet doors and began throwing the contents onto every flat surface, sorting through it all.

"Lady, please!" Her maids pleaded. "Let us be of help."

"You are under no such requirement. I am less than you now."

The old nurse held her shoulders from behind and stilled her thrashing. "Dear child. We know what needs to be done. Let us serve you one last time before you do this thing. What can we do?"

Belle glanced up. "Prepare the warmest and plainest clothes you can find. A few changes of undergarments. A good warm cloak with no adornment. A strong satchel with three days travel food, and two bags of coin, copper and silver only. No gold."

The old woman's eyes watered. "Yes, my Lady. I'll sew more into the bodices. Lottie, fetch me the sewing kit. Mabel, prepare a travel bag for the lady. Verna, tell a stable lad to ready the plainest horse we have that can walk a long way. Give him ten gold pieces if he can have it done and by the side gate before the Lady is ready. Then get back here and help her dress."

With tears streaming down her face, Belle threw her arms around her nurse, the closest thing to a mother the young woman had ever known. "I'm not a lady anymore. I'm just a woman."

"Yes, you are. And what a fine woman you are, too."

…

Belle shuffled as quickly as she was able under the weight of her travel bag, and despite her low heeled travel boots, she tripped and fell in the hallway. Painfully sprawled on the stone, she felt pressure in the small of her back press her down. She looked over her shoulder.

"Did you really think you'd get away so easily?" Gaston's face was bruised and bloody. "Your trick lost me my slave! Now the Dark One is loose!" His boot pressed harder.

Belle struggled for breath, scrambling with her arms to try to roll or shift away. "Freed slaves are usually not so forgiving as to release their former masters."

Gaston laughed, ugly and tortured breaths leaving a trail of blood at his mouth. "You think me released?" Blood frothed at his lip. "I am cursed. He has marked me and will find me later. Until then, I am his toy. But you," Gaston cackled. "You are marked as well. My clerics sought this land as a mission. They went so far as to ally with the Dark One to obtain it, and now you have cost them their prize."

Belle managed to roll over and struck as hard as she could. Her blow landed and knocked Gaston off and into a suit of armor. Plate clattered loudly along the stones and bashed Gaston to the floor.

"Run, you bitch!" He called after her as she ran. "Run as far as you can, for once the Dark One is done with my army, the clerics will come for you! They will enjoy the chase! What a prize you'll make!"

Hitching up her travel bag and holding her heavy wool skirts, Belle made her way to the far door leading to the hidden side of the castle.

Gaston gasped wetly, and screamed at her. "You're weak! You'll never be able to walk away from this life. You'll come limping back and they'll sit your naked, whipped body on the throne, slag!"

Belle covered her ears from the abuse and yanked the heavy wooden side door open. She took the horse and mounted, fleeing without knowing whether the Dark One kept his word or not. If he did, then her father and his subjects, her friends and relations would all be safe. Hooves pounded the path to the woods, jarring her teeth and keeping her on her heels until the castle was out of sight.

It was dark magic- the darkest- that kept a demon in thrall while twisting the master into a monster. She knew it was true, that the clerics would use her for their own means, that they had been part of the plan to take Avonlea and thus challenge the king.

Belle gasped and pulled the reins to halt the horse.

It was not Gaston. It was never Gaston. It was the clerics all along. They'd enslaved Gaston's mind until he had the Dark One in his power. They had used the Ogre War as cause for expanding their territory, gobbling up small principalities under different flags and bloodlines so no one could have possibly noticed.

For who notices the silent men in their hoods who offer bread with one hand and a lash in the other? She vomited, gagging on bile until it splattered the reeds by the river.

Avonlea was the last jewel in their coveted crown. With it they could bottle up King George and starve his lands until, savior-like, the clerics were called to offer relief. If they got Avonlea, they would ride their donkeys right into the throne room.

If they got Avonlea. She was the only blooded heir. With her, the line stopped.

Belle slipped off the frothy horse and knelt by the river to rinse out her mouth. "Oh, Gaston, you stupid fool."


	5. Chapter 5

I'm baaaack.

* * *

Rumplestiltskin waited. A fortnight had passed, but no soldiers came to his door for rope. The money from the last few transactions would last for some time, but regular money was something he found he became accustomed to and appreciated, even if the only things he could get were immediate product only. No one in town was willing to do his domestic work. Not even the young girls who needed the work to help their mothers. The older women forbade them, and Rumplestiltskin was left scrubbing his thin clothes on the river rocks downstream.

He and Bae had to stay far away from where the women worked, for they hitched their skirts up high over their legs and to stray too close was to risk a beating from an angry husband or brother.

Or the women themselves. Too much work and not enough hands made them strong and very intolerant of him.

In order to not risk Bae's standing with the rest of the village, Rumplestiltskin did the work himself, sluicing water over his rough fabric long after the women had left the stream. If he thought ahead carefully, by the time he was home there would be a bubbling pot of vegetables and meat ready for supper.

The tavern sold him day old bread. It was harder, but soaked up gravy fine. Bae was learning to dress the rabbits they snared as well as the pheasants he was bringing home with his sling. With so much food, Bae was growing like a weed, and a portion of money was set aside to purchase clothes with extra room hidden in the seams for growth. But they could not all be purchased in their village.

They would have to venture to the market again.

"Papa, can we get sweets again?"

"Maybe, Bae. If we can sell the rope and the good thread, then we can, but I'm not sure there will be a buyer."

Bae carefully pulled handfuls of softened hemp strands free and handed them to Rumplestiltskin. "Where have the soldiers gone? They have not come for rope."

"I don't know. I'm not sure I care. If I can sell the thread at a good price, then I don't need to sell the rope, too."

"They said it was the finest rope in all the land."

Rumplestiltskin winced and separated a loosened clump of fibers. "Being the best is not always good, Bae. Sometimes you are better served if you don't attract attention."

"If you didn't attract attention, you wouldn't have sold your thread. What colors will you make this week?"

He shrugged as he twisted the hemp. "I have a bit more red left, but that is running out. I may be able to get more indigo at the market, but I think all I have left here is the yellow and brown dyes."

Bae nodded solemnly. "Those are good colors, Papa. Maybe they will weave farms into their tapestries. We could always use more crops."

Rumplestiltskin smiled. "Yes, we could."

He hated making the rope. The fibers were wet but coarse and they dried his hands terribly. It didn't take long for the stiffer fibers to begin cutting him here and there. Tiny cracks and fissures in his skin oozed blood into the twists, which was fitting in a terrible way. He had blood on his hands, his own and that of whoever would die on his rope. He treated his hands with raw wool, and while it helped, it didn't stop the stinging and scraping of the fibers against his raw hands.

That night, after his hands stopped bleeding, he spun his delicate threads, dreaming of rich farmlands, productive gardens, and piles of sweet garden peas and carrots. His fingers guided the long wool fibers through the turns and kept the pressure consistent, rocking his foot on the pedal in time to his imaginary harvest, turning soil and holding up candy-sweet melons for Bae to enjoy.

For a brief moment, he imagined the hem of a skirt brushing his arm, cool hands handing him a cup. He started, eyes snapping wide. Bae, by the fire combing the next batch of wool, did not notice the minute pause in the tempo.

…

The market was quiet and cold. Winter crops were few and consisted mostly of hard squashes and nuts, a few salvaged potatoes and the last heavy chestnuts. They would roast the chestnuts when they got home and set a squash in the hearth tomorrow.

While Rumplestiltskin wanted to just find the tailor they had met the first time and sell his spools, Bae tugged the arm of a guard and asked if he and his Papa could be directed to the merchant's entrance to the castle.

"Please, don't mind the boy. We're just moving on."

"Wait, Papa!" Bae bobbed a thank you to the guard and ran to Rumplestiltskin. "They said the trade gate is over here." The boy gripped his sleeve and pulled him to a rough door with heavy hinges. As Bae raised his arm to knock, a man left carrying a massive rack of hats and gloves.

A heavy armed woman pushed the haberdasher out. "Next."

Rumplestiltskin stood dumbly.

The woman glared. "Next!"

"Papa, she means us!" Bae shoved his father forward.

The woman looked him over, unimpressed. "Trade." She barked.

"Spinner."

She looked at his clothes doubtfully. "What you got?"

Wiggling with excitement, Bae hopped forward and shoved a spool of yellow into the woman's hands. "We make the thread the lady likes!" Bae grinned. "We also make rope, but Papa doesn't like it as much."

Rumplestiltskin gasped and the woman raised an eyebrow at him. "Sorry, the boy is just excited."

The woman unraveled a few loops from the spool and nodded. "I've made rope, boy. I can't say I like it much either." She held the strand and ran her thumb along it. "Alright. Come in, and don't touch anything. I'll have the lady's maid come and check this. Elsa!" A little girl popped into view as they were allowed in.

The woman sent the girl on her errand and Bae and Rumplestiltskin were allowed to sit at a table in an alcove by the kitchen and given tea and some warm rolls with trimmings from roasts. They ate, devouring bread that was rich with drippings and cleaned their hands carefully afterwards.

A fine lady's maid entered the alcove. "Are you the thread maker?"

Rumplestiltskin jumped to his feet, stumbling a bit and leaning heavily on his cane. "Yes, Miss."

"My Lady is pleased with your wares. Do you have more to sell today?"

"Yes, Miss." Rumplestiltskin opened the bag and lifted out the dozen spools he'd brought. "I'm sorry, but these are the only colors I have."

"My Lady would like more colors. As such we will supply you with a selection of dyes. The leather tanner can arrange the necessary delivery." The maid held up a spool of light brown. "Though I admit, I've never noticed such luster in simple thread before. It would be a shame to hide with strong dye. Will you come and make deliveries from now on?"

"If… That is if…" Bae nudged him. "Yes, Miss."

"Excellent." The maid whispered to the woman who had let them in, then turned to leave. She stopped before reaching the stairs leading back to the formal part of the castle. "Spinner, the men who last delivered your thread said they knew your name but we did not allow them entry to our quarters and so did not hear it. Would you like to be referred to by your name, or do you prefer to remain Spinner?"

Before Bae could blurt out anything, Rumplestiltskin stopped him. "I should like to remain merely Spinner, Miss."

"As you wish, Spinner. We look forward to your next delivery."

"Yes, Miss. Thank you."

"Till then, Spinner." Rumplestiltskin bowed as she left.

"Her Ladyship must like your thread, Spinner." A small bag of coin was shoved into his hand and he was gently but firmly pushed to the door. "Good show, boy." The woman patted Bae on the head and handed him a slice of seed cake. "There's for your belly. I heard you growling. Now off with you, both."

They stepped out the door and pushed their way past a line that had formed while they were inside. The woman's voice carried down the narrow stone passage. "Next!"

…

…

The map the stable boy had shoved under the harness was old and faded, but Belle remembered some of the route. The neighboring provinces were frequented by King George enough to be a strategic move for her, as opposed to storming up to his door and demanding help. If she was going to protect her homeland and her father's people, then she had find a way to neutralize the threat she presented to King George. The man was far from being a kind and benevolent ruler, but he was no simple despot.

It was several days of hard riding from the castle at Avonlea to the border, and several more to the string of smaller manor castles the King visited or vacationed at, all of them home to the local dukes, barons, and specially favored knights. Belle could remember galas from her very early years, when she was expected to marry young to align Avonlea with a convenient house in George's favor.

The sound of her horse's hooves suddenly shifted from mushy thumps to clops. Belle pulled the reins and saw the start of a packed road. It was too new and the drainage was too good to be a path used by peasants. She backed the horse away, and guided him towards the darker parts of the woods. Her chances were best if she avoided the attention of any soldiers, and if they still travelled with clerics, she certainly needed to be careful.

What a disappointment she'd been to her father's advisors, but Belle knew that her father was proud if bewildered by his headstrong daughter. The loss of her mother had obviously damaged him, and she could not help noticing his misted eyes when he watched her go about their family quarters, arranging for the meals and organizing his travel schedule. It was only when she wanted to branch out and tried to learn the politics of the realm at his knee that he drew the line. She was to remain a domestic fixture, never to venture out into the world.

Now she was riding through foreign woods without escorts or guards, fleeing for her life, skirts bunched and wearing the garb of a servant. The sun was sinking fast and the horse's breaths sent swirls of fog curling by her knees. She passed by the first two clearings she came upon and selected one that was well hidden by drooping conifers and a few large boulders.

"Come on, you. Let's dig up something for your dinner." Belle scratched the thin sheet of snow away with her boot and revealed a patch of brown but dense grasses. The horse gave a disgruntled snort, but began to eat as Belle clumsily removed the saddle, careful not to inflict sores on her mount. Belle started a fire and softened bites of travel bread in water until she could chew them. When the boulders were warmed, she laid alongside the exhausted horse and slept more deeply on the hard ground than she ever had on her feather bed.

…

Water. Her face was wet. Was her maid washing her face before she rose again? Belle started when she felt drips.

The fire was still embers and their warmth was causing the icicles to drip on her. The horse was up and nosing the seed heads and winter ryes exposed by the miniature thaw.

"Well, my friend, we cannot stay. I don't suppose you can help me get the saddle back on, hmm?"

The horse nickered and chewed, not moving away as Belle tossed the blanket over his back. "Well, that's a promising start." After a few attempts, it was clear Belle was not strong enough to left the saddle over his back from the ground, so she climbed onto the rocks and settled it on the blanket. Once the buckle was set and the fire out, she packed her bag and climbed on his back with the help of the rocks.

She winced when she sat. "Well, at least one of us won't have saddle sores." She unfolded the map and consulted the sky. "If the sun is there, then we need to go towards those mountains. Ready?" She brushed her hand through the rough mane. "Me neither." She dug in her heels and flipped the reins. "Yah!"

…

The Frontlands were vast. Unlike the Marchlands- bound by the sea on one side, another province marked by a river on another and full of rolling hills that grew the finest fruit trees, grain and cotton in the realm- it was seemingly endless, rocky and harsh. There were still rich farmlands, but they dotted the land instead of defining it. It was impressive and rich in its own way, filled with minerals, precious metals, rocky terrain favored by sheep and goats, and enough villages that one could never call it desolate.

It was just the kind of kingdom Belle would chose were she a king. And if she were that king, she would covet Avonlea for its seaports and river.

If her map was reasonably accurate, she had another two days to ride to find the outer ring of estates, castles and villages she would need to regroup and plan her next move. She kept to the trees and brushy places as carefully as she could. A pawn she may be, but she would not rush forward stupidly.

…

The sun was high and Belle began to notice changes in the flora of the forest. Trees were slimmer and more spindly to allow heavy loads of snow to slide off harmlessly rather than snap the branches. There was less undergrowth, and therefore less cover, so she kept further away from the road. Once, she heard a series of wagons and threw herself from the saddle to the ground, letting the horse stand for its dull brown color was unlikely to attract attention. Men's voices carried in the open air. They were men heading home from war, looking forward to wives and mothers, hearth and home.

The clerics brought up the rear. She could tell by the change in sounds. The voices faded away but wagon wheels kept moving, punctuated by the occasional bray of their donkeys.

Belle breathed in relief as the wagons continued on and faded into the distance. "Well, looks like we were missed." Her heart still pounding with the last waves of fear, she began to feel the results of her rash dive to the ground. She would be bruised from hip to shoulder on the side she'd fallen on.

"If riding didn't hurt before, my friend, it certainly will now." She gripped the saddle and braced a foot on a tree limb to climb up. The first few steps hurt, and after that it was a constant radiating ache.

The night was colder, but the fire warmed underside of the rocky outcrop she'd found. There were more old sheep droppings than remains of previous fires, so she hoped no shepherds would decide to visit for the night.

By mid-morning on the fifth day, the horse slowed to a walk. By mid-day he stopped walking and tossed his head.

"What's the matter?" Belle grunted as she dismounted and checked for cuts or dragged snares, but saw none. She sighed. "So, are you going to let me look at your feet?" She gently pushed a shoulder into one flank and the horse obediently lifted a hoof. "That one looks fine. Let's check the rest." Belle talked and reassured her mount, who did as he was trained to do until she reached the third hoof.

"Oh, no. No, no." A sharp rock was embedded in the swollen footpad. It was angry and red and would slow them down horribly. Slowing down meant more nights in the cold, more days exposed in the open, and it likely meant Belle would be walking all day.

"All right, my friend. You're going to have to trust me." She patted the horse's side and tapped his foot. "I'm going to get that out, and you have to promise not to kick me. Got it?" She pushed against his side and in the moment he was off balance, Belle squeezed her fingers and plucked the rock out of his hoof. With a startled wail, the horse reared up and knocked her over onto her bruised side.

"Oof. I suppose I earned that. Well, do you think you can carry my bag and walk? You made it pretty clear that you won't carry me." With the bag still strapped to the saddle, Belle gave the reins a light tug. Reluctantly, the horse followed, limping slightly on the sore hoof until Belle found a place to camp before nightfall.


	6. Chapter 6

Rumplestiltskin stopped the wheel. Hooves and a creaking wagon were slowing, and when they came to a halt outside, he sighed and stood from his work.

"Bae, fetch the finished rope and stay out of sight." The boy dragged a heavy bag from the corner and stayed behind the flimsy partition towards the rear of the house.

The knocking was loud and impatient. Rumplestiltskin unbarred the door and opened it just enough to speak, for the winds were cold and blowing snow. "Yes?"

The soldier, Hordor had returned. "Budge, Spinner. It's deadly cold." The big man pushed his way into the house and lowered his heavy hood. He looked around and smirked at the bare walls, pallet, and single cookpot on the hob. "Well, I do hope I haven't come at a bad time."

"No, no. You've come for rope?"

"Of course I've come for rope. I've run out, if you catch my meaning. I would've been here last week, but I've had trouble in the Marchlands. Lost an entire battalion to some… evil."

Rumplestiltskin swallowed hard. "The Ogres?"

Hordor spat on the floor. "No, though that would set you shaking, wouldn't it? The King's man, Sir Gaston, had the Dark One's dagger and was using him to finish the war. Too bad his little fiancée backed out at the last minute and let the Dark One get his dagger back in the melee that followed. Hurry up. Where's the rope, man?"

A length of rope was lifted from the bag and inspected. "This looks well enough. So there's a pack of refugees from Avonlea streaming out, and a pack of folk that stayed. I guess it just depended on whether you thought the old duke was aligned with the Dark One or not. Not sure I like those clerics either." He snorted and scraped the slush and mud from his boots onto the floor in wet clumps.

"If that's all? I need to make more rope now."

Once again, the bag of coin was flung onto the floor. "Oh, and did I tell you that while I was in Avonlea, I had occasion to visit the ports? Fine ships there, fast ships. The fastest had a rough type for a captain. Said he knew you." Hordor made an ugly, smug face. "Killian Jones says to send your son his best. His bride is swollen with child and refused to speak your name."

Every sinew in Rumplestiltskin's body softened. He stooped.

"They do that, you know. Women hate to be reminded of the men that can't keep them. They refuse to recognize them, and hate to speak their names." Hordor leaned over, whispering cruelly into Rumplestiltskin's ear. "You know what they hate the most? I bet you do. Cowards." The voice became a hot hiss. "They hate to be married to cowards." Hordor swept out, flinging the door wide and letting a blast of blowing snow and cold into the house. "You're a coward, Rumplestiltskin!" He called from atop his horse. "You couldn't fight for your homeland, and you wouldn't fight for your woman!"

…

The fire was banked for the night and Rumplestiltskin sat awake, his gaze trained on the glowing embers, eyelids stinging from the hour and his unblinking stares. He was a coward. The words repeated like a rolling litany off his tongue behind his closed lips. He knew it as sure as he knew his trade, his hands, or his son. He'd run home from war, abandoning his post, from the fear of leaving his newborn son fatherless. Other children were fatherless, what made him special?

Then there was Milah. In protecting his son and setting her free, he was labeled not only the deserter but a coward who lost his wife, his child's mother. To a pirate, no less. He couldn't blame her for leaving, but he could never forgive it. Not for how it battered his own life, but for how it left Bae with less status and comfort than his friends. A woman at home meant stability and the ability for the father to work more hours at his trade and maintaining his home, rather than washing clothes and digging out potatoes.

No matter what he did, Rumplestiltskin would never get ahead. There was always something nipping at his heels. They were better fed these days, but he could still get no domestic help, and the cluster of people by the wells or village square would scatter once they saw him approaching. The shop keepers took his money and gave him goods, but there was no idle chatter, no friendly banter over soap or salt pork.

He was invisible.

And Bae was preparing all the furs from the rabbits they snared on his own, no doubt with an eye on carving his own sleeping space in their home. Rumplestiltskin would not stop him, but he would cherish ever last memory he had of small hands reaching for him in sleep, dreamy sighs in the small hours, and even the feet that never failed to kick him in whatever soft spot was most exposed.

After years of isolation and two years of being completely alone but for Bae, his soft spots were feeling more exposed than ever. Not even a quarter into the harsh winter of the Frontlands and he was already feeling the walls pressing on him.

The frustration might have been good for a better man. In his hands it was nothing but a waste of his precious energy.

A glance at Bae showed him to be sleeping peacefully, burrowed deep under the sheet and extra covers Rumplestiltskin had brought down from the loft upstairs. The bed up there was long unused but impossible to remove, so he'd never tried to sell it. There was no need now, but it sat as a reminder, on the rare days he had need to go up there, of all the nights it sat lonely and unoccupied.

When Bae finished his own bedding, Rumplestiltskin resigned himself to returning upstairs, leaving the warmer downstairs to his son. For now, however, he needed sleep if he was going to work, cook, clean, and care for Bae the next day. After washing and putting up the last few scattered tools, Rumplestiltskin scooted under the covers with his son, shoving him over just enough to make room for himself and slept fitfully, dreaming things he could not name the next morning.

…

…

Belle limped on, cursing her weakness and soft feet with every step. The bruises were deeper than she'd realized and today they seemed to penetrate to her very joints. Every time she felt the temptation to lay down and rest, her vision clouded over with the row of men forced to kneel before the clerics. That could not be allowed to happen. If they did not capture her and make her their means to a blood claim, then it would be another principality, another foolish fop they cajoled and flattered into thinking he could be king. She would make the sacrifice and save the realm from the silent hooded men with their scourges.

But it was so cold. And she was so tired. Each night had been worse than the last and she'd felt the ground more sharply with her bruises and cuts. Even her modest and heavy dress was showing damage, despite being so well made. The coins sewn into the seams and bodice made it stiffer and heavier than it would have been, too.

She tugged gently on the reins. "C'mon. We can't be that far. I saw the stone pillars from the map, so we must be getting close. I'll have you in a proper stable as soon as I can, I promise."

The hills mocked them. Had they both been well and out for a joy ride, the inclines would have been little challenges and the downhill a frenzy of gallops and bumps. Now the ups were just work and the downs made the aches worse.

The wind was harsher at the top of the hill. The few trees hardy enough to live here, roots exposed and spilling out of cracks in the rocks, were bent with it, their limbs pointing towards the valley still hidden by the crest of the hill.

"Just a few more feet." Belle prepared herself as she trudged. Would it be a smattering of pathetic huts clustered around a single barn? Or would it be a thriving township with a manor house for a county seat? Whatever it was, it would have to do for some time until the horse, and she, could walk again.

They neared the crest. As they did, Belle's heart lightened when she noticed streams of smoke from chimneys rising until they were obliterated by the winds above. Nestled below, protected in the valley from the worst of the winds, sat several dozen houses surrounded by heavier woods and brush, ringed with garden plots frosted with blowing snow and a few modest stables. There was even a paved central square, but no manor or army outpost. And no monastery.

"Oh, it's perfect!" Belle cried, and tried to pull the reins harder. The horse snuffed and tossed his head against her grip. "No, I suppose not." She slackened her hold. "It wouldn't do to get hurt on the way down and freeze to death." Belle's gaze hardened and she set her jaw. "No, not when home is overrun by those… those devils." Her steps were deliberate as she picked her way gingerly to an unstable path that led down the hills to the village.

Belle ignored the pain in her blistered and bruised feet, the bone-deep ache from shoulder to hip, and the cold that numbed her into clumsiness and walked.

…

Past the point of hunger, pain, and cold and on the verge of collapsing, Belle dragged herself to the nearest stable and pushed a silver coin into the hand of the groom. The lad, quickly settling the exhausted horse and seeing that the lady was in just as bad shape, took her around front to the entrance of the tavern.

"Granny! Look! We got a traveler in what just paid a silver! She's cold. Are you hungry, Miss?" He steered her away from the noisy tavern and towards a kitchen.

Belle nodded and took the cup that was being shoved into her hands. She drank the watered mead in greedy gulps and had to gasp to catch her breath.

"Ruby! Fetch the girl a plate and make up the room. We've got a tenant." And old woman sat on a stool in front of Belle and squinted at her. "What are you doing out there, girl? In another few hours you would have been wolf bait."

Belle had worked out her lie, so it flowed easily from her lips. "I'm travelling to King George's castle, and am to be a maid to one of the ladies." She caught her breath. "I'll just be here a few days. When the weather is warmer I can move along."

Granny and a raven-haired girl with a plate threw their heads back with laughter. "When it warms up? Miss, that's not like to happen for months. Winter is just upon us! In a fortnight there'll be snow up to the hip and no one can travel but by sled or along the few roads that connect the King's favorite estates."

"Ah." Belle mused. "The King's roads."

Ruby brought a fork and a pitcher of water. "The road to Longbourne is sometimes cleared because he visits the castle there." Ruby plonked down next to Belle. "Your room'll be near mine. My name's Ruby and this here is my Granny." A loud crash from the tavern sent Ruby flying out of her seat as Belle took her first bite of warm food in nearly two weeks..

Granny walked around the table and pulled a heavy pie from the stove. "I can tell a liar, child. No need lying to me."

Belle stood, ready to run, but the pain and Granny's hands stopped her. "Now, now. I didn't mean to upset you, but if you've come travelling to find a husband, you couldn't have picked a worse town." Granny slid a platter of risen dough into the oven. "They were all sent to war, and only half came back. Those that had wives to come home to were snatched back up, those that didn't soon were. You don't look like trouble, but if you mind yourself, we'll not sell you out."

A swallow cleared her mouth. "I'm just a maid."

Granny looked her over doubtfully, but shrugged. "Know numbers? Letters?"

"Yes. Why?"

"I need help. Ruby's a sweet girl, but has no head for figures and there's the King's tax to be paid."

Belle frowned. "Well…"

"No one would begrudge you the ability to feed yourself while you were stranded. Not even the King." Granny winked as she flipped a towel from the bar above her head. "A silver will only buy a week's room and board. What about the rest of winter?"

It could only protect her, Belle imagined, to stay in this little village. With her feet in shreds and her horse lame, she was staying put anyway. She would need to live very quietly, and working in a tavern was no way to stay unseen.

"I cannot be seen. It cannot be heard at the castle that I was a tavern girl." Belle ventured. "I would never be allowed to serve ladies in their chambers again."

Granny sloshed water onto her apron as she scrubbed platters. "Well, it's a shame to waste your pretty face in the kitchen, but I understand. Ruby there needs to catch a man, and it's not going to happen if she's fetching and carrying and back here with me. If you like, you can join my kitchen maids and split the work to free Ruby to handle the tavern. Many hands make light work, so we probably won't need you all the time."

"But, that can't possibly be enough to pay for the horse as well?"

With a grin, Granny set a basin down in front of Belle and poured hot water into it. "Room with Ruby and you can keep your horse in the stable. You can't walk from here to the castle on your own, and no matter who you are, I've no doubt you have some business there. What kind is your own affair." A handful of salts went into the basin. "Now, strip off your boots and stockings, girl. You can't fetch buckets of water with ruined feet."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Text

It took more than a week for her feet and bruises to heal, and as they did Belle learned how to scrub, scour, knead, and wash to Granny's standards. The other maids were younger than she, mostly village girls who were the eldest daughters from homes with no father. They taught her to cook.

It was as Granny said, many families were led by women now. They scraped out a thin existence but were full of pride by their shared sacrifice. The remaining men undertook extra work, repairing homes and maintaining the village as a way of honoring the memory of their fallen friends. Many structures that had been businesses, like the small granary, were now run communally. It would likely take more than a generation to correct the losses.

The Ogre wars had demanded blood sacrifice of the experienced as well as the naïve, and it dug especially deep into villages like this one. Belle wondered if any of the men had passed through Avonlea's hospitals. Or pyres.

She'd kept an eye on the tavern door and seen only locals, a few soldiers, and a rare traveler. The clerics seemed not to favor the town, or at least not the tavern. Belle had never gone out while she was healing, and only to fetch and carry after that. Even a raised hood had the power to send her heart pounding. Every cloak, it seemed, might conceal demons with rope.

She dropped the scrub brush when she remembered what they did to the ones who had been afraid.

"Belle?" The littlest maid held up the brush for her. Belle no longer had use for her titles, and hadn't the heart to lie about her name. Not when she lied about everything else.

"Thank you, Morraine." Belle shook herself, clearing her head. "I must have been dreaming." Belle's heart broke for Morraine. The girl could not have been more than eight, and she should have been learning letters and how to help her mother. Instead she scoured pans, sold pies and bread, and prepared ingredients for Granny. It could have been harsh, but the old woman was gentle. Belle quietly resolved to do all the heaviest lifting.

"That's okay. I sometimes dream that the fairies are coming to wash the pans for me." The girl settled back down to scrub burnt bits off a roasting pan. "They say the Blue Fairy protects children, but I only saw her one time and she just chased off a man in a cloak." Morraine leaned forward. "Do you think we could ask for some fairy dust to put in the wash water? Maybe it would scrub for us!"

Belle giggled. "Now that would be magic!" They worked happily by the back door, slopping dirty water out from time to time and rinsing with clean. The sticky sludge made dark mud by the back stoop.

Granny's voice boomed from the kitchen. "Belle! I need you!"

She set down the brush and dried her hands on her apron to help Granny with her figures. A knock came from the back kitchen door and Morraine answered. The girl fetched the basket of day old bread, passed it out to a set of waiting hands, and brought back a few coins for Belle to calculate the taxes.

Belle looked at the coins in her hand curiously. "Was that a beggar?"

Morraine shook her head. "No, it was just-"

Granny cut her off. "It was no one. Never mind, Belle. Now get to work on those numbers."

Belle finished the week's taxes and set the money aside, noting when the King's tax collector came and making sure to be out of sight at that time from then on.

…

…

While Bae ran off in his new clothes, oblivious to the chill and wind as only a child at play can be, Rumplestiltskin tugged his rough cloak tighter against the cold. The rope handle of the bucket was stiff with frost, and he rubbed the sharp ice crystals away with his bare hand before taking it up to trudge behind Bae to the well.

The new clothes were a mix of parts bought in Longbourne and some of the work done by women in the village. As with the little treats they slipped Bae, they did not mind working on his behalf, but Rumplestiltskin knew better than to ask them to repair or replace any of his own clothes. It was one of those little points upon which the truce seemed to lie. The village tolerated his presence so long as he continued to know his place. Having him at the bottom of the ladder in town meant no one else was.

He was the beggar with a purse, the leper with no disease. As long as he kept to the shadows and appeared worse off than the rest, his son was welcomed.

It wasn't hard to play his role. There was no time to mend his clothes beyond the obvious holes, and the cloak was so old the edges frayed and the shoulders were worn. He had enough money to buy fabric for a new one, but there was no time to make it. Not when the chimney and thatch needed his attention, the storage needed turning, and his spinning wheel could use some repairs.

The winter was a good time to spin more delicate work, but the wheel had seen too many hours without maintenance and it was showing. He had a stack of special wood pieces he'd cut and prepared in the summer just for the purpose.

His cloak would have to wait. Bae could probably learn how to sew, but to teach him right now would mean not repairing the roof, or having the pinholes in the chimney set fire to them in the night. For now, Bae could spin the twine and sell his spools to the cooks for trussing up roasts, tying parcels, and stretching leather.

Cold water dripped between his fingers from the rope handle, chilling his hand and making his already raw knuckles burn. Rumplestiltskin didn't even bother looking up as he approached the well, avoiding the inevitable turned backs and blank eyes that looked through him.

Bae started to trot off with a few friends. "Bae, stay in the square! Make sure someone can see you." Bae came back for a quick hug before running off again. "Don't wait until you're cold to come home." Rumplestiltskin added weakly as he hung his bucket on the pulley hook. He cringed as he touched his wet hand to the well's metal crank handle.

"Let go of that!" A woman's voice shouted. He ignored it. No one talked to him.

"I said stop!" His grip was pried open and his sore hands sandwiched between a pair of smaller warm ones. A woman's hands. "You should bring a kitchen rag to wrap the handle. You'll burn yourself from cold otherwise." The voice chastised.

When shock finally let him turn to look, he was surprised again. She was real. "Who are you?"

She smiled. "I'm new. I was travelling and got caught in the weather. Was that your son I tripped over a moment ago?"

Her lovely blue eyes didn't stray from his. She wasn't searching for something, anything, to escape to in order to get away from him. "Bae, yes. My son. You're still holding my hand."

"Well, yes. Sorry." She let go. He wished he hadn't mentioned it. "I just came out for water. Guess I wasn't the only one who needed some. Here." She took off her apron and wrapped the handle with it. "Try now."

He raised and lowered the handle as the woman beamed. She hefted her bucket to the ledge and leaned on it. "So, what's your name?"

Well, it couldn't last, could it? "I'm no one of consequence."

"Surely, you are called something?" The woman urged.

He laughed bitterly as he turned the handle. "I'm sure I am called many things, but my name is Rumplestiltskin."

The woman made a face as she said it silently, testing it out. "My, that's quite a name. I had quite a name once as well, but I am called Belle." She watched as he continued to absently work the pulley handle. "Um, I think your bucket is full, Rumplestiltskin."

"Oh!" The woman called Belle laughed behind her hand as he scrambled to turn the crank the other way. Her apron slipped off the handle and fell onto the ground. "I'm so sorry, Belle." Now he looked like a clumsy fool in front of the only woman who would speak to him. He was trying to ease himself down to pick it up, his bad leg stiff in the cold and slowing him down, but she quickly picked it up and wrapped it around the handle again.

"There we are. Trust me, a little dirt is not the worst it's going to see today."

Rumplestiltskin was out of practice talking with adults, but not that out of practice. "What else are you doing today, Belle?" He cranked the handle slower.

"I work at the tavern. I scrub and fetch and carry. When I get back I have to scour the roasting pans. Then I help the little ones with the bread."

She worked at the dreaded tavern. "Ah. I buy bread there. Sometimes."

"Really?" She peered at his face. "No, I'd remember you."

"I don't come by the front door." He started turning the crank faster.

Belle was quiet. He assumed she knew who he was and would simply leave, so he hefted his bucket out as quickly as he could. He turned away to take up his staff but a touch to his shoulder stopped him. He froze.

"If you tell me when you'll come next, I can answer." She said gently. "If you like."

Her smile was genuine and unmarred by pity. The first genuine smile he'd seen on a face other than Bae's in a very, very long time.

"Tomorrow at midday?" He said, too quickly he realized, and looked down at his hands. "We, ah, we're nearly out of bread."

A dimple deepened in her cheek. It was distracting. "I'll make sure I'm near the door."

"Good." He stammered. "Well, I should find my boy. Tomorrow, then." He tapped his staff on the stones and set off to find Bae.

"Rumplestiltskin!" Belle called.

"Yes!" He whipped around.

She held up the rope handle of his bucket. "Don't forget your water."

…

…

Granny was waiting when Belle returned. "You took your sweet time. Did you drop the bucket again?"

"No. I wasn't the only one at the well. A man was there, too." Belle hefted the bucket onto a low bench and wiped her hands. "I had to wait my turn and we spoke for a few minutes."

"Take care, girl. Don't go flirting with someone's husband. I'm sure you meant no harm but the women here aren't likely to appreciate you making nice with that pretty face of yours." Granny pounded a lump of dough into a bowl and handed it to Belle, then started rolling dough for pies. "Most men don't fetch water anyway. Too busy working with animals or tools. The man's wife must have been sick or too busy with the children."

Belle kneaded the dough and pinched off small pieces to hand to the girls. "This man had his son with him. Called him Bae."

Granny eased off her rolling pin. "Did he have a staff for walking?"

"Yes." Belle helped Morraine shape rolls and place them in the pan. "He was very kind. His name was Ru-"

"Hush." Granny snapped. "He's no one. Not anymore. It's your business if you want to waste your time, but I won't have him spoken of or seen here." Granny roughly finished rolling and slung the pastry into a pan. She turned away and rolled out the rest as another girl brought chopped vegetables for the pies.

Belle leaned down to Morraine. "Why does she hate that man?"

Morraine's eyes darted up to Granny's back and toward the tavern door. "Everyone in town does." She waited for Belle to show some sign of understanding, but Belle shook her head. "Everyone hates cowards, Belle. Don't you know that?"

...

...

Rumplestiltskin's skin tingled. Prickles along his scalp and tiny flutters along his insides made his hands shake as he started chopping the rabbit that Bae had slung from a rafter. The knife edge skipped across the board and Rumplestiltskin had to sit and calm himself.

How long had it been? A year? More? Since he'd last had a real conversation with anyone in town? How long since he'd been touched for anything other than getting pushed out of the way? People didn't think about such things, the meaningfulness of being seen and acknowledged, because it was never an issue for them. When you were an outcast, it was everything.

He could stand the poverty. That wasn't special; lots of people were poor. So long as there was enough for Bae, he could do without. He worked for Bae so that he could have food enough in his belly and warm clothes. None of it had meaning beyond that, but someday his son would grow up. If Rumplestiltskin did his job properly, perhaps he would marry and move far away from his past and the shameful father that was part of it.

And he would be alone. Completely alone. He would disappear. Dust.

But someone looked at him today. She –Belle- smiled. And touched him. Even if she was cool to him tomorrow and said nothing to him when he came for bread, she would still be someone who had spoken to him.

Belle. A quick little name for such a kind person. He said her name out loud, testing it out with his voice and ears. The sound of it was in such sharp contrast to his own name: unwieldy, full of harsh sounds and sudden stops. Even so, when said with her lilt, it was quite nice. Almost familiar.

If she could say his name now and again, he might not hate that it belonged to him.

Tomorrow. He could worry about those things more tomorrow. For now there was a rabbit that was not capable of crawling into a cookpot on its own, nor would the potatoes and onion chop themselves. The bags of grain and beans would hold a little longer, though his next trip to Longbourne would mean hiring a seat on a cart for the goods he needed to purchase. That meant finding someone in Longbourne willing to make the trip to his village.

That would mean silver. And that meant there would be many late nights spinning. He roughly prepared the rest of the meal and set the lid on the pot. And the wheel still needed repairs. And his cloak had torn a bit more.

Rumplestiltskin sighed.


	8. Chapter 8

Thank you for all the kind reviews. Guests, you are most welcome.

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Granny was waiting when Belle returned. "You took your sweet time. Did you drop the bucket again?"

"No. I wasn't the only one at the well. A man was there, too." Belle hefted the bucket onto a low bench and wiped her hands. "I had to wait my turn and we spoke for a few minutes."

"Take care, girl. Don't go flirting with someone's husband. I'm sure you meant no harm but the women here aren't likely to appreciate you making nice with that pretty face of yours." Granny pounded a lump of dough into a bowl and handed it to Belle, then started rolling dough for pies. "Most men don't fetch water anyway. Too busy working with animals or tools. The man's wife must have been sick or too busy with the children."

Belle kneaded the dough and pinched off small pieces to hand to the girls. "This man had his son with him. Called him Bae."

Granny eased off her rolling pin. "Did he have a staff for walking?"

"Yes." Belle helped Morraine shape rolls and place them in the pan. "He was very kind. His name was Ru-"

"Hush." Granny snapped. "He's no one. Not anymore. It's your business if you want to waste your time, but I won't have him spoken of or seen here." Granny roughly finished rolling and slung the pastry into a pan. She turned away and rolled out the rest as another girl brought chopped vegetables for the pies.

Belle leaned down to Morraine. "Why does she hate that man?"

Morraine's eyes darted up to Granny's back and toward the tavern door. "Everyone in town does." She waited for Belle to show some sign of understanding, but Belle shook her head. "Everyone hates cowards, Belle. Don't you know that?"

…

…

Rumplestiltskin's skin tingled. Prickles along his scalp and tiny flutters along his insides made his hands shake as he started chopping the rabbit that Bae had slung from a rafter. The knife edge skipped across the board and Rumplestiltskin had to sit and calm himself.

How long had it been? A year? More? Since he'd last had a real conversation with anyone in town? How long since he'd been touched for anything other than getting pushed out of the way? People didn't think about such things, the meaningfulness of being seen and acknowledged, because it was never an issue for them. When you were an outcast, it was everything.

He could stand the poverty. That wasn't special; lots of people were poor. So long as there was enough for Bae, he could do without. He worked for Bae so that he could have food enough in his belly and warm clothes. None of it had meaning beyond that, but someday his son would grow up. If Rumplestiltskin did his job properly, perhaps he would marry and move far away from his past and the shameful father that was part of it.

And he would be alone. Completely alone. He would disappear.

But someone looked at him today. She –Belle- smiled. And touched him. Even if she was cool to him tomorrow and said nothing to him when he came for bread, she would still be someone who had spoken to him.

Belle. A quick little name for such a kind person. He said her name out loud, testing it out with his voice and ears. The sound of it was in such sharp contrast to his own name: unwieldy, full of harsh sounds and sudden stops. Even so, when said with her lilt, it was quite nice. There was a ring to it that made him think of distant lands.

If she could say his name now and again, he might not hate that it belonged to him.

Tomorrow. He could worry about those things more tomorrow. For now there was a rabbit that was not capable of crawling into a cookpot on its own, nor would the potatoes and onion chop themselves. The bags of grain and beans would hold a little longer, though his next trip to Longbourne would mean hiring a seat on a cart for the goods he needed to purchase. That meant finding someone in Longbourne willing to make the trip to his village.

That would mean silver. And that meant there would be many late nights spinning. He roughly prepared the rest of the meal and set the lid on the pot. And the wheel still needed repairs. And his cloak had torn a bit more.

Rumplestiltskin sighed.

…

…

Belle woke early and slipped into a dress Ruby had loaned her. She was going to need another one or two soon, or at least get some good thread to mend the snags and small tears in her own. Her heavy dress was excellent for travel, but far too warm for the kitchens. Red's clothes were fine, but Belle had to let the laces nearly all the way out just to breathe.

For now, the days of silks, corsets, and brocade were over. Should the King favor her she may become part of his court, but that was months away. Until then she still had to figure out a way to remove the threat she posed to King George but still warn him of the danger to his throne without endangering herself, her father, or Avonlea. It was possible the clerics still had her homeland in their grip, holding her father and his subjects hostage while they searched for her.

The tavern was quiet for it was only just after dawn, and Morraine and the other girls weren't there yet. According to the stable boy, who appreciated the boiled egg she brought him, her horse was doing well, and she could see that his walk was nearly normal. When she got back to the kitchen, Granny and Ruby were finishing putting the first batches of bread in the oven while the next ones rose. Belle made them breakfast and sat with Ruby while Granny left to check with her brewer.

"So, I heard you're catching the eyes of every man that comes through town?" Belle teased.

"Hardly, but there was one that stayed behind to talk a few nights ago. He's funny and shy, but kind." Ruby ate slowly, keeping one eye on the big oven.

Belle nudged her plate. "You could do a lot worse than a kind man. Trust me." Minutes passed and the women finished their meal. While Ruby checked the barrels and ensured that the mugs were no worse than they were the day before, Belle cleaned their plates and joined her in the tavern. "Ruby, can I ask you a question? About someone here?"

"Sure." Ruby wiped the edge of a mug and checked a crack. It would hold for another day.

"A man. He's called Rumplestiltskin."

Ruby set the next mug down with a thump and sighed. "What do you want to know?"

"Morraine said everyone hated him because he's a coward. What did she mean?"

She motioned for Belle to sit and kept examining the mugs. "A few years ago this pirate came to town. Spent a lot of gold and silver here, filled everyone's drinks and kept them full. He was going to move on and go back to his ship, but he stayed for a whole week because he was trying to convince a woman to go with him." Red's voice was flat and emotionless. "The night before he left, the woman's husband came to take her home."

"Rumplestiltskin?" Belle felt her stomach drop.

"Yes." Another mug thumped on the shelf. "The pirate challenged him to claim her as his wife. Demanded that he fight for her, but Rumplestiltskin wouldn't. Instead he pleaded that she come home for their son, but she just drank. Finally the pirate took what was left in his purse and threw it at him, and told him to tell his son that he'd paid for the boy's supper."

Belle's eyes stung. "What happened then?"

Ruby turned around and dropped her rag on the table. "He picked the silver off the ground in front of the whole tavern and left. I was pouring ale at the table that night and refilled Milah's cup three times after that. She was too drunk to stand." Ruby snatched her cloth and scrubbed at the table. "I think she wanted to forget."

Desperate for something to occupy her hands, Belle took another cloth and wiped the next table. "How could she do that? How could she just leave her husband and her son?"

"He was a traitor." Ruby shoved a chair around and moved a table. The legs screeched along the floor. "He ran away from the front during the wars and was declared a coward. Milah was pregnant and for the next five years she had no help, little money, and a husband she couldn't be proud of." Ruby shrugged. "How could she be happy?"

Belle closed her eyes for a moment, remembering what happened to deserters in this realm. "Being afraid doesn't mean you're a traitor."

Ruby looked up sharply. "Other men died."

Not wanting to risk arguing with Ruby, Belle chose to let it drop. "But he protected his son later. If he'd fought the pirate, he might have gotten killed. Where would his son have been then? With a drunk for a mother?"

With a sigh, Ruby scrubbed more gently. "I never said I liked Milah." She started to heft the biggest table back into place. "Or that I agreed. Only that I understood."

Belle picked up the other end of the table and helped Ruby settle it in the center of the room. "Nothing is ever as simple as it seems." She hugged Ruby and brushed some dirt from her shoulder. "I'm going to take care of it when he comes from now on. Tell the girls not to answer the back door."

Ruby gave Belle a soft smile and rushed off to take the bread out of the oven.

…

Belle stayed occupied through the morning by helping trim a roasted pig and stirring the pot of stew in between cleaning and washing. She shooed Morraine away to eat lunch and stayed near the door and kept a few loaves of the morning's bread on a nearby shelf.

Noise from the tavern was getting louder and she strained her ears to listen for a knock. When it came, it was softer than she expected, just a quick rap that she hurried to answer. She had to hold the door to keep it from blowing in, so she pulled her borrowed shawl around her tightly and stepped out onto the stoop. The wind blew his cloak and tunic tightly to his frame, and for a split second she imagined him stooped in front of a cleric.

She blinked the image away. "You're right on time! How are you today?"

Rumplestiltskin held his staff and took a half step closer. "Fine." The wind blew his tattered cloak hood into his face. "A little wind blown, but fine. How, uh, how are you?"

Belle tilted her head in the direction of the kitchens. "Covered in flour, splattered with grease, and sick of pigs, but fine." She didn't miss the face he made when she mentioned the roasted pork, nor the sniff he'd given the air when she opened the door. "Do you ever eat here? At the tavern?"

"Ah, no." He shuffled a foot. "I'm not sure there is a place for me at those tables."

"Oh. Well, I don't like to be in the tavern either. Too… crowded." Belle glanced over her shoulder. She saw soldiers a few days ago and didn't leave the kitchen the rest of the day. Rumplestiltskin shivered a little and Belle cursed herself. "I'm sorry, I'm making you stand in the cold." She ducked through the kitchen door and grabbed the loaves of bread and set them in his basket. "I hope Bae is well. Where is he?"

Smiling brought out little wrinkles around his eyes. It was strange that a man could look at once both happy and so sad. "He's at home combing some wool. I have spinning to do and a delivery in another week."

"A delivery? Where?"

"Longbourne. A few hours walk from here."

Belle frowned. "It will be too cold to walk next week."

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "I have thread to deliver."

Remembering her travel dress, Belle stepped off the stoop and stood next to him. "I don't suppose you have any spare thread? It doesn't have to be special, just sturdy enough to mend heavy wool." She considered. "I can pay. Where is your shop?"

He stammered. "Shop?"

"Of course. Surely you're a master spinner?"

"N-no. I have only my home."

Belle paused. She was never in the company of a man behind a door without chaperones before. But she was no longer noble, was she? Somehow normal people got on with their lives without hordes of servants, maids, guardians and eyes that watched their every move. "When may I come?"

"I'll… I'll let you know. I'll need to… prepare my wares."

"Wonderful! Well… ah, I should probably let you get home to Bae. It's not getting any warmer out here, is it?"

Rumplestiltskin shoved a hand into his coin pouch and handed her a pair of coppers. "I'll see you soon, then?"

"You know where to find me, Rumplestiltskin." She smiled and opened the door to go back inside.

"That I do, Belle." He crunched off into the snow and Belle slipped back inside, warming her hands on her neck.

"Well, that was cozy." Belle turned and saw Granny watching from the doorway to the alcove. "Like I said, since you're leaving I don't mind who you spend your time on, but I can't have him hanging around my door. From now on, you can deliver his bread."

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	9. Chapter 9

Sorry about that double post. I'm making it up to you by adding this early. :) Thank vulgarshudder for spotting my oopsie..

Rumplestiltskin shook his head at himself. Preparing his wares would involve stacking his spools in a row on the kitchen table. He'd have to make his home presentable. Not that it was dirty or unkempt, but it was just a bare hovel fit for an outcast bachelor. He only had two cups… no, that wasn't true, but he didn't like to get out the third. Milah had chipped it after coming home from the tavern one night. He'd sold the rest of the matched set but kept this one, afraid that it would lower the selling price if one was damaged, inadvertently keeping a painful memory in his own cupboard.

It wasn't a large chip anyway, and still the best cup he had. He and Bae had scarred pewter and a heavy, dented kettle for tea. He had a bit left, so he could make tea when Belle came. As he got closer to his home, he cringed at the state of the front step. At least the snow would hide the worst of it. He didn't have time to clear off the walk and the bundles of hemp would have to stay because they kept snow from drifting against the door.

"Papa!" Bae shouted, and set down the brushes. "You were gone so long!"

"I'm sorry, Bae." He said with a slight smile. "I… I spoke with someone at the tavern. And she'd like to come look at some thread." Bae stared. "Really?"

"Really. So go clean up your furs and lay them over the frame again. We can nail it up on the wall to hang so they aren't over the stair rail. Then we can get started on cleaning up the wool and hemp buckets."

Bae was off in a flash. They swept the floor, fixed a cabinet door together, and hung up Bae's rabbit skins. Rumplestiltskin knew it was going to be a very, very long night, because he would use some of the new dyes from the Longbourne tanner to make a sample of every color he had. If Belle needed something, he was going to make sure he had it. If she liked it, she might even come back.

They took a break to eat supper. When Rumplestiltskin finally pulled the loaves of bread from his basket he felt an unfamiliar rush of warmth.

The bread was fresh; long cold, but still soft.

Bae was settling down to sleep as Rumplestiltskin sat at the wheel. After supper they both took up the brushes and carded pile after pile of wool. He had every intention of spinning as much as he could that night and getting it dyed as fast as possible. Once it was ready, he could invite her to see it.

"Papa?"

The first twists made their way through the wheel as the tight thread spilled from his hands. "Yes, Bae?"

"Are we going to have a real visitor? Here?"

"Is that okay?" He paused the wheel.

Bae yawned sleepily. "Of course. You need a friend. Do you like her?"

His breath caught and he had to swallow hard. "She's very kind. Yes, I like her."

"Good." Bae snuggled into the covers and went to sleep to the sound of the wheel as Rumplestiltskin pressed the pedal and resumed his work. Long into the night, he twisted the fibers and thought of the sweet smile, the dimple, and the gentle words Belle spoke. He wondered, madly, if there was any way she might become his friend. After so long without them, a man becomes desperate for companions.

And companionship.

His face grew hot and he scolded himself. He'd only met her twice. He had no idea where she was from, what she was like, or where she was going, for no one settled in his village that wasn't born there. Certainly not a pretty young woman. Certainly not with him.

That didn't change the fact that she was coming to buy thread. He concentrated on spinning the best he could, spooling a strong shimmering cord that could mend her dress and hold for as long as she needed. When his vision started going double and he was too tired to see his hands, Rumplestiltskin slumped from the bench and collapsed next to Bae to dream of soft hands, curling hair, and possibilities his waking mind didn't dare imagine.

…

…

Belle nervously retreated to the far back corners of the kitchen and hid from sight. A group of soldiers had arrived and she caught the bray of donkeys from outside.

Clerics. There were clerics around. As calmly as she could, she ducked under a table and started to scrub. By the time the tavern was quieter and the braying had gone, the floor under the main work area was as clean as anyone could remember.

Ruby hauled in a load of platters and mugs. "Well, you certainly found something to do today! Granny'll love that, so you better keep it up or she'll get mad if that spot gets too dirty again."

"I don't mind." Belle said from under a shelf. "There's less for me to do now that Morraine and the other girls have learned more. I need to be useful." Knowing Ruby was busy, but needing to know anything, Belle popped her head up. "Where were those soldiers from?"

"I think one said they were returning from the Marchlands. Something about it becoming more stable since some uprising, but that the Marquis was going to be summoned by the King once the roads were cleared after the thaw. The men were complaining that the clerics were slowing them down and forcing them to take census in some towns, and their map-drawer was especially slow."

A chill went through Belle despite the heat of the kitchens and her own exertions. A census. So the clerics were hunting for her and stalling for time. She fought to keep her voice even. "Are they stopping here?"

Ruby dumped the platters into the soapy trough. "It didn't seem like it. The soldiers were hungry and impatient, and I think we're too small. We don't even have a manor house or a noble."

Belle thanked every power she could think of that she saw this village first. "Where are they off to next?"

With a heavy spatula and a flip of her wrist, Ruby dished out meat pie and headed back out to the tavern. "Sounded like they're heading for the King's roads to check for safe passage, then returning to Longbourne. They want to know which roads are open." She balanced platters on one arm and ales in the other to the delighted sounds of hungry customers.

Her father would be examined for his involvement in the slaughter of the army the day she fled, and whether he was aligned with the threat to the crown. Biting her lip, she wondered if the King even suspected that the clerics, tasked with aiding his people, were bent on dethroning him.

"You can come out, girl. They've gone." Granny stooped and held out her hand to help Belle up. "They rode out of town more than ten minutes ago."

Belle took her hand and scooted from under a shelf. "Thank you."

"They didn't ask about anyone like you." Granny squinted and looked down her nose at Belle. "I didn't volunteer anything, either. Figured you have your reasons."

As she smoothed out her skirts, Belle nodded and twitched a curl back into place. "Again, thank you."

"You can thank me by getting more water and scrubbing the rest of the floors. Can't have one clean spot and the rest greasy, can we?" Granny pushed the clean bucket towards Belle with her foot and headed to the stoves.

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	10. Chapter 10

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Belle wrapped her cloak around herself and headed out to the main well. She almost wanted to go without it, to shake the heat of the kitchens, but she knew within minutes the sweat would cool and chill her to the bone without it.

There was a small group at the well today, mostly women chatting amiably, and they greeted her coolly as she took her place to wait for her turn at the crank. Perhaps Granny was right, these women did not appreciate outsiders at all, and particularly not women like her. Belle made the smallest of small talk and stayed mostly quiet. It would be to her advantage to not attract more attention.

Suddenly the friendly mood of the group shifted and the chatter died to silence. A few of the women simply left. The woman at the crank sped up and took her water without saying goodbye, and others retreated to a far wall along a building at the edge of the town square. Belle looked around for the source of such an effect, but all she saw was Rumplestiltskin.

She hung her bucket on the hook and lowered it down. He walked on as she watched, bringing his bucket to the well, never raising his head. He appeared to be studying his feet and watching their placement along the way, but she knew he must know every chip of every stone in the square. It was only when his staff tapped on the pavers at the edge of the well that he looked up in surprise at her.

"I was wondering when you were going to notice that I was here." Belle laughed.

The day was bright and he squinted, half pleased and half embarrassed. "Sorry. I find I'm usually… preoccupied when I come to the well." He glanced around nervously and leaned on his staff to turn. "I might just come back later when… when I have less on my mind."

Belle's bucket splashed down and she started to haul it back up. "I'm nearly done. Stay till I finish?" He paused long enough for her to continue. "Have you got your thread prepared? I could visit and perhaps find something that would work?"

"Erm…" He stuttered. "I've got one last group in dye right now. You never mentioned what color the dress was so… well you should be able to find something that will match. I hope." He smiled shyly despite his eyes roving the square. "I must go. I will come by the kitchen door for bread later? Will you be there?"

Belle pulled her bucket up and set it on the edge of the well, careful not to splash herself. "Granny asked me to deliver your bread from now on. I'm sorry, will that be alr- oh my goodness!" Belle rushed forward when Rumplestiltskin's staff fell from his hands. She grabbed it and placed it back in his hands, then handed him his empty bucket. "Are you well?"

His knuckles went white around the staff. "I'm fine, yes. That would be fine. I'll… I'll tell Bae." He took his bucket and turned, then spun around to face her again. "Yes, that's just fine!" He said brightly, then stumbled.

Belle giggled at his reddened face once she saw that he was alright and waved as he left. "I'll see you this afternoon!" She called after him.

She hefted the bucket down and had to use her other arm like a wing to balance herself. The other women made their way back to the well. Belle bid them a good day as she walked back to the tavern, carefully avoiding icy spots and anywhere she could not see the stones.

Not one of the women spoke to her on her way back.

…

…

Rumplestiltskin watched as Belle's eyes roved the room as discreetly as she could manage, taking in the surroundings as she set her basket down and let him take her cloak. He imagined that the directions she was likely given, the house closest to the forest, hadn't mentioned the way the forest was trying to take back its territory.

His home wasn't in disrepair yet, but the branches that brushed the roof now would lay upon the thatch with the burden of snow they gathered in the winter months. Brambles nudged the drooping fence, causing it to bow inward. It was unlikely to last the winter. The chimney was thankfully sound, as he'd kept the ivy trimmed during the summer months so it would not find the cracks and chinks in the old stones and mortar.

Rumplestiltskin watched her move around his workspace, taking pains not to snag her cloak on the bent hook and set himself at the hob to warm the kettle. When she did not rush to unload her basket, he hoped she might stay a few minutes. "Will you have some tea to warm you, Belle?"

"That would be nice. Thank you." She wandered over to where Bae sat rubbing linseed oil into a piece of polished wood. "And what are you working on?"

"Papa needs to fix his wheel, so I'm oiling the wood." Bae stared openly. "Are you here to see Papa?"

Rumplestiltskin held his breath. "Why, I suppose I am. You're Bae, right?"

"Yes! Do you want to see my rabbit skins?"

"Perhaps," Rumplestiltskin interjected quickly, "Perhaps another time, Bae. Belle might like to sit and warm up by the fire. Why don't you finish polishing and then clean the brushes for later?" He waved his hand toward the two chairs by the fire. He and Bae had hurriedly moved their sleeping pallet behind the curtain earlier.

Belle nudged her windblown hair behind her ears. Her cheeks and nose were still pink from the cold winds. "Thank you. Wait, Bae!" She rushed over to her basket and pulled out two pastries. "Here. I brought you a treat from the kitchens."

Bae's eyes widened when he saw the crust of sugar crystals on the pastry. "Go ahead, Bae. Say thank you." They both laughed softly when Bae took the sweet and blurted his thanks with his mouth full of syrupy apples.

"Don't worry, Rumplestiltskin. I brought you one, too." She handed him the other pastry and went to sit in the smaller chair by the fire. Belle settled herself into the smaller chair and scooted a little closer to the fire while Rumplestiltskin went to finish making tea. The sweet was heavy with apples so he cut it in half to share it with her. Crumbles of pastry looked handsome on his best pewter plate, almost like they had such decadent treats all the time and not just when they went to market. And only when there was enough to spare.

The kettle sang and he poured tea. Bae came for his and watched them curiously from his makeshift workstation polishing wood pieces. Rumplestiltskin carried his dented metal cup and the slightly damaged porcelain cup out to Belle.

When walked around to hand her the cup, his breath caught for a second. Her bright blue eyes had drifted closed from the warmth of the fire, and the light caught the red and gold in her hair. Her cheeks had lost their flush from the winds, but a sweet pink remained. Her lips…

He looked away. "Tea, Belle?"

Her eyes fluttered open. "I'm so sorry! I must have been colder than I realized." She sat up and smoothed her skirts.

"The winter here can sneak up on you like that." He handed her the pretty cup. "Oh, be careful. That cup got… it was chipped." He ran a hand through his hair and wished he had something more to offer. Something better than the damage left over from his wife. "Sorry."

Belle held up the cup and ran her finger along the edge curiously.

"You can hardly see it." He said softly. Weakly.

She gave him a gentle smile. "It's just a cup." She took a deliberate sip. "See? Still works."

…

…

Three days later and the winds were harsh, biting at Belle's hands fingers where they wrap around the basket handle. She cannot feel it when she raps on his door.

His smile is tired and careworn. "Hello, Belle."

"Hello Rumplestiltskin." Belle held up the basket in her red hands and followed him in. "I brought lunch. I hope Bae is hungry."

As he took her cloak she set the basket on the table and lifted out some pieces of meat pie. Rumplestiltskin handed one to his son. "Now Bae, eat at the table. I don't want you dropping pieces. Belle, come and sit by the fire, you must be half frozen." Belle gave her thanks and sat, stretching out in the smaller chair.

Rumplestiltskin went to a shelf along the far wall and brought a tray closer. "I finished the thread. Would you like to see it?"

"Oh yes!" Belle said, turning her chair so the light would shine between them. He handed her the tray, filled with at least twenty spools of fine thread, each a different color ranging from jewel like greens and red to deep brown, each glistening in the flickering firelight. "These are amazing, and there are so many colors!"

"Do you see one you like?"

She held several shades of blue. "I like them all, but I think," Belle held up one that would probably match her travel dress well. "I think this one will be perfect." She moved to get her coins but thought better of it.

"Good." He took the tray back to its shelf and put it up.

"You didn't do all that for me, did you? What will you do with the rest?"

He sat at his wheel and gave it a turn. The wheel rocked noisily and he fiddled with a piece. "I expect I'll sell it in Longborne. The lady of the castle there likes it."

"I can see why." Belle ran her thumb along the rows of filament on the spool. "This is the work of a master, Rumplestiltskin."

"I was. Years ago. I can do a bit of tailoring as well."

Belle shook her head. "You should have your own shop with apprentices. You could keep a portion of their earnings while they trained and do very well." Rumplestiltskin was silent and Belle couldn't fathom why. "Why don't you have a shop?"

"I'm not exactly welcome here, Belle." He shrugged and kept working. "I doubt anyone would come."

"But you were born here, yes? You could earn back your place in the village."

The bark of laughter she heard was harsh and unlike the gentle man she normally saw. "Half this town would just as soon see me gone, Belle. The other half would pack my things for me."

Belle stood and walked closer to him. She lowered her voice. "I've heard the talk. I don't care. A man should be able to get on with his life."

The wheel stopped and Rumplestiltskin looked up. "How very kind of you." He whispered in a harsh voice. "But here, in my village, Bae's home, men like me are outcast or worse. If I suddenly had a shop or tried to make customers here, Bae would lose the welcome he has. As long as I'm poor and don't ask for much, Bae has a future. I won't do anything to put that in danger."

Belle's mouth was dry as she watched Rumplestiltskin bend over his wheel again. She swallowed past the hard knot in her throat and walked to the hooks on the wall. "I'm sorry, Rumplestiltskin. I had no right to say that. I'll leave you in peace."

As she reached up to take her cloak, she heard his voice from behind. "Belle, wait." As she turned, her hands brushed something and she felt it fall away. His voice softened. "You don't have to go yet. You've barely warmed up."

Belle looked down to see what she'd knocked into. It was his cloak, crumpled on the floor while the hood still clung to the hook. "Then let me apologize with my actions." She gathered the frayed pieces together. "Have you any thread I can use to mend your cloak?"

He retrieved a splintered basket filled with rougher thread and twines, heavy needles and such. Belle settled by the fire and, still facing where Rumplestiltskin sat at his wheel, began to repair his neglected cloak. It was in need of far more repair than this, and she fixed the worst hole in addition to the hood, but she realized the truth of what he said. He played a role in the town, and in exchange his son was spared. Given what Belle had seen, men being scarce here, it seemed that the town was actually being practical, if brutal.

By the time she finished, she and Rumplestiltskin were casting apologetic smiles at each other.

"Papa, can I help fix the next part?"

"Of course, Bae. Go fetch my other tools."

Belle rose. "I should go before I'm missed any more in the kitchens." She held up the mended, if not whole, cloak. "Here, I think this should hold for a time. And, I'm sorry, Rumplestiltskin, for what I said. It's none of my affair and you've every reason for what you do."

He took the cloak she held out. "It's no matter."

Belle took her cloak and flipped the hood up. "May I come again? Just to visit?"

"I'd like that. When?"

"Tomorrow?"

He laughed. The sound was sweet to her ears. "Tomorrow then, Belle."

"Till tomorrow, Rumple."

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	11. Chapter 11

Hi, and thank you for all the lovely reviews. Hope everyone had a wonderful Christmas!

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Had yesterday ended slightly different, he would have assumed she would stop coming. His face still felt warm when he thought about it. Almost like deciding to ignore the harsher side of him, she dropped the harsher part of his name. Rumple. No one had called him that for years.

And she called him that again when she arrived.

"It's not nearly as bad out there today." Belle called to him as she tested a mended seam in Bae's nightclothes. She refused to sit while he and Bae worked and only did so when he yielded and fetched her the mending box. "I'd still hate to be out in it for long. The travelers at the tavern look for excuses to not leave."

Rumplestiltskin knelt by Belle's legs and pushed around the logs. She grinned down at him as the fire leapt and warmed her, then he took Bae's latest oiled wood piece and inserted a wire. "I believe it. The winds come and go, but once the cold settles it stays. The solstice festivals are the only break we get, and that's only because we build bonfires."

"That sounds like fun." Belle snipped a thread and found another loose seam. "You said you were going to Longbourne?" She asked as she pulled the needle through again.

Watching Belle mend his son's clothes was hard to watch. Hard to watch because he felt he should do it himself, but also because the scene was so precious that he was afraid he might say something stupid. He twisted the thick wire to hold firm and took it to the wheel. "Aye, I did."

"When?"

"Perhaps two days." He gently pressed the pedal, testing his repair. "I have a one more set of thread to dry then I can make my sale." The wheel began to spin with a more steady motion.

Belle's needle paused. "How will you get there?"

Bae stopped brushing the wool and Rumplestiltskin halted the spin. He tilted his head thoughtfully. "I thought I might fly." Once his son stopped giggling he continued. "We'll walk, of course, though I'll have to hire a cart on the way home." He didn't need to mention that they were running low on grain and storage. "I need to bring some things back."

She set the sewing in her lap. "Is that very expensive?"

The question caught Rumplestiltskin off guard. What woman, especially one who worked and was clearly away from home, did not know the cost of transport? And yet she know how to gauge the quality of fine thread?

"Yes, Belle. It's expensive. It will cost me at least a third of my sale."

Belle was quiet, so Rumplestiltskin considered the matter closed and began to test the movement of the wheel again. He had enough thread to make a good sale, and he hoped that the ladies would appreciate the many colors he was providing enough to pay a little extra. Either way he was going to have to spend nearly everything he had to stock up for the coming cold months, and even work extra now that the wheel could take it.

Belle cleared her throat softly. "Could a horse carry your goods ?"

He stopped the wheel again. "A horse is far dearer than a place on a cart." He stood and went to his workbench to sort through spools.

The words came out a whisper and he strained to hear. "No, I didn't mean you should buy one." He could hear her fidgeting, feet tapping on the edge of the hearth. "I mean, you could borrow mine."

Rumplestiltskin turned in shock.

"He's no fine stallion," She continued, "But he's strong and not lame anymore and can walk a long way. Just don't make him run on rocks carrying a load and he'll be just fine." She set her work on the chair next to her, Rumplestiltskin's chair, and walked to stand near him at the bench. "Maybe don't both ride him on the way back… when you have him loaded. I don't think he'd like that very much, but he probably won't mind Bae."

Impulsively, his head swimming with the possibility of not scraping by during the lean months, Rumplestiltskin surged forward with a hitched gait and wrapped Belle in a hug and kissed her cheek in gratitude. By the time he realized the liberty he'd taken, the damage was done and so he held on selfishly for a moment longer before stepping away. Her face was bright red, eyes wide with surprise.

"Sorry. I shouldn't have done that, but…" He mustered his courage but found that his tongue failed him and he could only manage a grateful smile that he could feel growing watery the longer he looked at her. He turned and busied himself at his bench, ordering nothing and managing to knock over several stacks of empty spools before he wiped his eyes, knowing she was still watching. "Forgive me, Belle."

A gentle hand briefly covered his where it rested on the bench, surrounded by scattered tools and test yarns. "There is nothing to forgive, Rumple."

…

He'd failed to temper his eagerness, so she left not long after, needing to arrange the saddle for the next day with the stable boy as well as get back to the kitchens before she was missed. Rumplestiltskin waved goodbye to her, still tingling everywhere he'd been touched.

It was ridiculous. They were both grown; he was undesirable and she likely not to remain single. Women like her, kind, strong, and lovely, were quickly taken as wives even in times like these. He was actually shocked that an enraged husband had not tracked her down yet.

That must be it. Perhaps she had fled? Or was fleeing to where a lover or family waited, only to be waylaid by the cold? Or was she a refugee as Hordor had mentioned? These things would explain her having a horse and the haunted look in her face when she gazed at the fire for too long, but it didn't explain not knowing the cost of a cart.

It was no matter. He could be a friend to her if that was what she needed.

The horse was going to change his entire winter, even if it was for just this once. He would save the cost of the cart, and that meant better food, money left over from the trip, and a set of lighter clothes for Bae when spring came. In time, perhaps even enough for a second wheel, so Bae could begin his own work if he wanted. His son would always have a trade, no matter what. If a man had that, he need never starve.

And riding a horse would save hours in the cold. The two hour walk in good weather could stretch to three or more in bad, and Bae was just a small boy. Too small to be in the cold for so long, but also too small to leave at home for the entire day. He could tuck his boy against him and wrap him in blankets to guard him from the cold all the way to Longborne, and wrap him up tighter on the way back. He'd be chilled but not sick with it.

Head bowed, he gave thanks for himself as well. He'd not had occasion to be thankful for so long, it felt foreign. Having the horse would mean not feeling his old injuries as if they were fresh for days after the trip. He was still strong enough to make the trip well enough, but a hobbled ankle would cripple him in time if he continued this way. It was a fact of life he had accepted with the tattered clothes and sneers.

A small kindness to her, perhaps, but a gate of hope for him. If there was a husband or lover waiting or looking for her, he prayed that the winter delayed them.

…

…

Bypassing the kitchen door, Belle headed around the tavern and entered the barn. She nudged aside the clucking chickens that flocked by her feet expecting handfuls of seed, and found the stable boy. A few coppers and arrangements were made for her horse to be saddled and ready after breakfast. Fresh straw poked her ankles as she made her way to the horse stalls. They were in the warmest part of the stable, kept comfortable by a carefully tended stove that was a favorite place to linger for the cats that kept the mice away.

Her brown horse snuffed as she approached. "Look at you, my friend." Belle greeted, and scratched behind his ears. "You look like you're enjoying yourself here. I think you've gained weight!"

The horse shoved his nose into her hands and butted her shoulder. "I know. But it's too cold to just let you run outside unless there's good reason. Would you like to get out? Maybe stretch your legs?" He pranced. "Good. I'm glad, because my friend needs to go to Longbourne and sell his thread there. I promise, it's not too far and…" She rubbed his nose. "And it'll be good practice for the spring, when you and I will travel there together."

Belle picked up a brush and absently drew it over the nearest flank. "When you and I go, we will make the King see. Papa never wanted a throne." She sighed. "I'm not sure Papa would know what to do with one if he had it. He's a merchant, not a commander. I guess that's why Gaston came."

The horse's twitching skin drew her attention and she brushed with more vigor. "I'll show the king that the threat was never from the Marchlands, but his own courtyard." She paused. She wouldn't even voice her next thought. That would be asking too much, to go home. And did she even want that anymore? Could she tolerate another arranged marriage? Her beloved father's restrictions, the suffocating pomp of court life, and the constant parade of chaperones, maids, escorts, and guards?

What, exactly, were they guarding?

Mere days ago, for the first time in her life, she had spent unchaperoned time in the company of an adult man that was not her father. The world had not ended, and she was not beset by plague. She did not feel disgraced. Court had never provided her with companions, just servants, fops, and adversaries. Her old maid was the closest thing to a friend she'd ever had, but she would never have presumed to sit by her side at the fire.

Rumplestiltskin had welcomed her as an equal, because he believed she was. She felt valued as a friend and… and what?

Belle quickly brushed harder, sensing danger in her thoughts and sending up a cloud of dust, leaving soft velvet and contentment in her wake. Working over the flanks and gently combing out the mane, Belle murmured and soothed her companion until she heard the sounds of banging platters all the way from the kitchens.

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	12. Chapter 12

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Rumplestiltskin checked his satchel once again. The spools were anchored to the inside of the bag. A leather strap covered the threads so they would not fray or snag. What bread they had left was stuffed with shreds from last night's dinner. If they stopped for honey bread, there was no reason Bae should go hungry during the long day ahead.

His own belly was another matter. Though porridge was filling, it never seemed to last the whole day.

"Papa, I'm so excited! We get to ride a horse!" Bae hopped around his father and wiggled in anticipation. "I haven't ridden since Morraine's Mama had to sell theirs last spring!"

"Bae, you mustn't jump around when the horse gets here. You might spook it and then we won't be able to ride." It had been far longer than a few months since Rumplestiltskin had been in a saddle, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Horses were not pleasant animals when they were loaded with an armored man among noise, filth, and blood.

"Won't this be fun, Papa?" Bae put his ear to the door to listen for hooves.

"Riding for hours is less fun than you might think. I'm bringing extra blankets for you to sit on." Bae need to stay warm but the extra padding would prevent soreness as well as sliding out of the saddle. He carefully wrapped Bae in his cloak and made sure his clothes were securely fastened against the cold. When he reached for his own cloak, he smiled. The hood was well mended, though not as neatly as he might have been able to manage himself. It didn't matter, it was on and that was what mattered.

The edges were tucked back and smooth again as well. It wasn't a big change, nothing anyone would really notice, but he felt far less shabby without bits trying to fray off everywhere.

In a few short hours, she had done that. Such a small favor, but he was able to repair the wheel as she did, her presence an excuse to stay close by, extending the life of the tool his and Bae's lives depended on.

He needed to repay her, but how? She was well fed and had a horse. What could he possibly give her?

"Papa! I think I hear a horse coming!"

Presently, there was a soft knock at the door. Rumplestiltskin stilled his suddenly fluttering hands and opened the door.

"Hello, Belle."

She grinned and dropped her hood. "Hello, Rumple. Hello, Bae." Belle's dress dragged through the dirty snow by his stoop as she lightly looped the ends of the reins over a rail. The hemp bales that protected his doorway obscured his view of the horse. Bae could not see, either, and he jumped up and down, using his father's arm for leverage, tugging him over as he tried to offer his thanks.

"Bae," Belle said, her eyes wrinkling at the corners. "Do you want to go look at the horse?"

"Yes!"

She knelt down and Bae gave his full attention. "Then you need to settle down. He doesn't know you, and you don't want to scare him. Go introduce yourself, then you can give him this." Belle pulled a carrot from her pocket and gave it to Bae. "If you can do that, you'll be friends with him in no time."

With all the effort a seven year old could muster, Bae took a deep breath, let go of Rumplestiltskin's sleeve, and calmly walked around the bales to where the horse was tied. Belle stepped aside and Rumplestiltskin followed out to watch.

It was not a fashionable horse. He'd seen the fine boned, color splashed mounts the ladies rode during his visits to Longbourne. Those horses were meant for show and light riding, for their delicacy and prancing gait made them prone to injury. Belle's horse had the unimpressive coloration of a plow horse and a thick head that might best a goat, but it had the bones and muscle of a well-made traveler.

Belle, unaware of his gaping, or perhaps the reason for it, patted the saddle and gave him a hopeful smile. "Will this work? He should be able to make it there and back without any trouble. The stable boy told me his foot was all healed up."

"He'll do fine." He said, finding his tongue. Belle tugged at her skirts and picked her way over to help Bae find the horse's favorite spots for a scratch. As Bae giggled, Rumplestiltskin smiled and checked the saddle, tossing a blanket up over the horse's neck. He set himself to devise a way to secure his goods. "You don't have any ties, do you?"

"I'm sorry, no. My travel bag attaches directly to the saddle."

A saddle and matched bag? Rumplestiltskin decided to think about that later, and ducked inside to get some rope. He made a few quick loops and flipped the loose rig over the horse's back and tied a series of knots. "This will do for when we come back. I want him to feel the rope before it has any weight." He gave a final tug to secure the harness, then stopped abruptly. "Belle, what's his name?"

With a shrug, she shook her head. "I was in a rush, but I call him Friend. He seems to like that."

Nodding, acutely aware of the hour, Rumplestiltskin knocked a few hemp bales off a stack and cautiously led the horse alongside them. "Bae, climb up here. Get in the saddle and hold still. Be careful!"

Once Bae was safely in place, Rumplestiltskin leaned his staff against the stack of bales and made a final circuit, leaning against the horse for support, letting it get used to him and generally delaying. Belle followed, curiously watching as he checked the saddle and his ropes again. When they reached a hindquarter he ran out of excuses and came to a stop.

"Is something wrong, Rumple?" Her blue eyes flashed with concern.

With a quick glance up at Bae, who was following his instructions, he took a deep breath and spoke softly, without looking up. "Belle, do you call me 'friend'?" Nervous and perhaps a bit ashamed of how desperate he must sound, he hung his head, pretending to examine his ropes. Her silence told him nothing except perhaps that he'd pushed too hard, asked for too much.

Just as he about to make the effort to shift his weight again, he felt a touch on his shoulder. It never ceased to startle him, to feel the touch of another.

"Yes, Rumplestiltskin. I think of you as a friend." He picked his head up to look at her face, lovely despite the reddening of her nose from cold and the escaped curls she tried to tie to save them from the kitchen. "I- I think of you as a very dear friend."

She stepped closer, her warmth touching his side as she leaned into him. Rumplestiltskin's eyes drifted closed when the cold tip of her nose touched his cheek, followed by a gentle press of her lips. She stepped back and when he opened his eyes, her cheeks were bright pink as well. His stomach flipped.

"Papa? Can we go now?" Bae was restraining his excited wiggles, but he was going to lose that battle soon.

Rumplestiltskin stood fully and pulled his hood up. "Ah, well, yes. We should… I suppose."

He felt less a fool when Belle started stammering and pointing in the direction of the tavern, her eyes glancing at his mouth every so often. "Right, yes, I've got to… bread and pies." She pulled her own hood on and stepped around him carefully.

"I'll have him back in the stable by nightfall." He called as he clambered onto a bale to mount the horse.

"Right! Yes." She tugged the too-long skirts and straightened her cloak. The dress was ill suited to her, but it was what she had, he supposed. Once he was in the saddle she stopped and handed him his staff. "Safe journey, Rumple."

He took it, knowing that the look he was giving her was too hopeful, too full of longing. He wasn't sure he cared. There were going to be only so many opportunities like this. "Till I return, dear."

…

…

Belle dragged her skirts, Ruby's really, through the snow and felt the wet creeping into her stockings. It wasn't too bad, she thought, since most of the snow could be brushed away.

When she reached the square, her bucket was still by the well where she'd left it. Delivering the horse to Rumple was the side errand to Granny's barked order to fetch water.

A few village women stood by, standing close to each other and chatting as they took turns hauling their water and Belle greeted them as she took her place to wait her turn. The chatting grew low and hushed, and Belle's mind wandered. Rumple would be gone for the day, so she would have no more chances to think quietly by herself. With the kitchen in full swing, for better weather meant more travelers would stop for food and drink, she would scrub and fetch and knead for the rest of the day. The smallest maids no longer struggled to heft great burdens because Belle had grown stronger in the last weeks. She spared them the heavier work their bodies could not manage.

She was no martyr, though. Belle never wanted to be anything but a dutiful daughter, a just leader, and, hopefully, a good wife to a man she liked and perhaps even loved. It hadn't seemed like so much to ask when she had maids who cinched her corsets and made sure the sheets of her bed were smooth and neat. Now, with her stockings growing damp and the cold beginning to chill her through her cloak, it was tempting to imagine that she was the heroine of a great tale, undertaking hardship for glory.

Another woman lowered her bucket and Belle was next in line, so she leaned up against the edge of the well.

Belle watched the side road that led to the tavern, wondering how many would be arriving throughout the day. The sun was high, glazing the surface of the hard packed snow with patchy wet ice and making a treachery of the ro-

_SPLASH_

Belle leapt up, dripping with icy water and gasping from the shock.

"Oh no, dearie!" The woman at the crank drawled sweetly. "The bucket must have slipped! Best rush off before you catch your death."

Slinging water from her arms and pulling the frigid cloak away from herself, Belle expected a pair of hands to help her, or a fresh cloak to drop around her shoulders. All that came was her bucket, kicked in her direction. She pulled a hank of wet hair away from her mouth, about to accept the apology when she saw the faces of the remaining women at the well.

They stood as a wall, blocking her path back to the well. "I- I need to get water."

"Heavens no, dearie." Said one. "You really must go and come back once you're dry. Perhaps when there's no one else around to have an accident."

"Yes." Said another. She smiled. "You really should be careful. Wouldn't want to ruin your clothes."

The woman at the crank laughed. "You might need to mend them."

They laughed in unison as if there was some great joke, but Belle, already wary of attention in the village and terrified that she'd attract even more, simply took her bucket and left, her skirts now completely wet and dragging even worse over the icy stones. The skirts slicked water over the sheet of ice and she slipped, banging her knee on the hard ground. Belle pulled herself up, refusing to let their laughter shame her, and slung her wet cloak over her shoulder so she could lift the skirt and limp back to the kitchen door.

Granny took one look at her and scoffed. "Took your sweet time, girl. Go get changed and tie your skirt up this time. No one's husband to see your ankles back here."

Belle slumped off to her shared room and dug in her drawer for clothes. She pulled out her other shift, thankfully clean, and took Ruby's least revealing dress and tied it on. Her spare stockings slid on and she closed the drawer knowing she would have to stay up late to wash her clothes.

Belle stayed hidden in the kitchen for the afternoon, stopping only to eat a few hasty bites of stew and bread before scouring pans and loading platters with bread and a few scrapes of butter. Ruby left with loaded plates and returned with ones scraped clean of all but the scantest smudges of grease or gravy, signs of the hunger that came with cold.

She would like to see Rumplestiltskin able to feast like the tavern visitors seemed to. The man was never going to be big like Gaston, but when she'd brushed her body against him earlier, the bones of his shoulder had felt more prominent within his skin than was right. The man was not starving, though that was hardly a measure of being well.

Warmth crept along her neck when she thought of him and she paused in her scrubbing. He was so kind, so gentle. Gaston would never have stood still as she kissed his cheek. He would have gripped her by the bodice and demanded a real kiss. It made Belle wonder whether court was really a place that made refined people to command the realm, or just overbred, stable bound ponies fit for little but show.

Without a war, Gaston's suit would not have been truly considered, but the conflict made the chaperones, escorts and her own father lenient and prone to not seeing the truth.

A loud bang shook the timbers of the tavern and made Belle flinch. The heavy front doors slammed against the frames as loud men filed in, and a deep voice shouted for Ruby. "Where is my favorite wench, today? My men are hungry and we have been thwarted in our first errand in your village. We are in need of comfort."

Ruby's voice cut through the men's rumblings. "You'll find no comfort here but what comes in a wooden barrel."

Laughter filled the tavern. "Then, dear lady, serve and we will be merry."

Ruby came through the kitchen doors a moment later. "Granny, we're going to need a lot of food and soon. That group of soldiers is back."

Granny started lining up a row of platters and pans. 'What do they want? I've only got one pie ready and there's the morning's bread. The roast isn't ready till evening, ."

Ruby slipped her hands through five mug handles each and headed out. "Load everything and make sure there's more on the way." Once she was back in the tavern, Belle marveled at the ability she had to change her voice and manners to suit the customers. The soldiers teased and Ruby gave it right back, never missing a beat or letting them fluster her. The men grumbled at the lack of food but the noise became contented once there was bread and ale on their table.

The deep voice spoke again when Red took out the meat pie. "You sadden me, lass. You have not asked what errand we failed at."

"Well, you cannot possibly have failed but for treachery. Fine soldiers like these cannot be beaten by honest means." The sound of clanking pewter and toasts heralded the men's approval. "Not only that, I've no need to ask. With a mouth as big as yours, you're bound to tell me anyway." Belle smirked at the hoots and table banging that always followed Ruby's jibes.

"You wound me! I came to see a man in this village who makes rope." Belle cringed. She hated the very word now. "He was nowhere to be found, and now my men are in need of ale to help forget who we travel with."

Ruby stood with her back by the door, ready to return to the kitchen. "And who do you travel with?"

The men grumbled and one spoke up. "We are elite soldiers of the king, commanded by Hordor himself," The men thumped their mugs and slapped the table. "And we escort little hooded monks from one end of the realm to the other when we should be returning order to the provinces torn by war."

There were loud clatters and the musical tinkle of cutlery as a fist banged on the table. "If they King says it is our mission, he has his reasons." The pewter struck the table once more. The louder one had taken another draught. "The King knows his mind."

The pot that Belle was scrubbing had fallen flat upon the work table. Ruby swept in with the first load of platters and dumped them in front of Belle. "Get to work. The suppers will be ready soon. Granny gave some of the girls the evening off so you're working for two."

Belle's hands were frozen on the lip of the heavy pot, but she nodded and lifted the brush once again, unwilling to appear ungrateful or lazy. Hostage to the plates and bowls, she kept to the edge of the table to stay completely out of sight and worked, delivering clean dishes and utensils to Granny who promptly slopped roasted meat and potatoes, steaming stew, and wedges of pies and bread upon them for Ruby to carry back out to the tavern. More and more people came, as the good weather allowed them out for the first time in a week.

Afternoon gave way to evening and the noises from the soldier's table indicated that they were both sated and just shy of being too drunk to ride. The loudest one called out for Ruby.

"Where is the wench? We must leave and the King will settle my men's debt." Ruby sighed and stuck her tongue out at Belle as she headed for the door. Belle strained to listen over the clanking and chatter from the tavern.

"I heard you, and if you're going to call me wench, I'm going to call you 'hog', for that is how you eat." The men laughed and banged the table.

"Then, shall we call a truce? I am called Hordor."

"Then you may call me Ruby. If I were a wench I would have poured your ale over your head by now." Belle admired Ruby's ferocity. Years of waiting on ruffians had given her the kind of poise she wasn't sure she had herself. Then again, court had a way of encouraging smiling lies rather than straightforward jousting.

"I probably deserved it, Mistress Ruby. I would settle the bill for my men."

"You can see Granny on the way out. She handles the coin." A chair scraped across the floor.

"Actually, Ruby, I'd like to ask you a question. There could be gold in it for you." Belle set down her armload of plates and snuck close to the door to listen. "You see all the travelers that come through your town. They all stop here, for it is the only place for hours to eat and drink with a room and stables."

"It is. We don't overcharge and we don't feed rotten hay. Your purse is safe here."

"Which is why the King has never sent me with his clerks to check your taxes. The King knows all that happens in his realm. That's what I do for him. Tell me, have you seen any strangers in the village lately? Perhaps a month ago? Maybe more?"

Belle suddenly found it hard to draw breath and her skin pricked as though rubbed with nettles.

Ruby answered coolly. "I don't see much apart from the inside of the tavern."

"But you hear everything, and anyone travelling would have to stop here."

"Only if they didn't have family here." Ruby countered.

Hordor laughed. "No one leaves these villages. Not even the coward!" The previously silent tavern rumbled with guffaws. "Again I ask, dear Ruby, have you seen strangers? A woman, perhaps?"

The quiet was stifling. Belle could count her rapid heartbeats and feel the sweat beading on her upper lip. Granny, in the next room of the kitchens, huffed and raised a huge spoon. The entire tavern jumped when she smacked a large metal bowl, the loud crash breaking the quiet. "She only notices the handsome men. Now, pay up and move along. You're distracting her from her work."

Belle fled to her room, ignoring the girls loading bread into baskets and knocking over a stack of dirty dishes. With shaking hands, she hauled her travel satchel out of the closet and slapped at the dried mud that still clung to it. Dust flew at her face, choking and blinding her. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

Coughing, the taste mud coating her mouth, she pulled her drawer from the chest and let it bang to the floor. She'd leave here tonight, as fast as she could. The next town couldn't be more than a few hours ride away, and the weather was good, even if it was getting dark. Belle threw her few remaining clean clothes and all her dirty, wet things into the bag and shoved her travel dress on top.

Traveling at night was risky, but it was just a few hours on a seldom used road. A seldom used road that was cleared- one of the King's roads. Belle slowed, feeling the frustration bite at her.

The soldiers would be on the King's road. The soldiers were escorting clerics.

With a helpless sob, she crumpled to the floor, clutching wet stockings and her bags of coin. They were lighter than when she left home.

Belle wiped at her face and saw dirty streaks on her thin sleeve. She was poorly prepared for flight. The dress she wore was suited to the heat of the kitchen, and her boots still damp. If she left now, she'd freeze to death. She didn't even have gloves, and her hands were cracked and dry from working in the kitchen. Holding reins, they would be bleeding in a day.

She surveyed the chaos, slim possessions on full display. One dress, a cloak, two pairs of stockings, two shifts, some undergarments, boots, a bag, and a couple small handfuls of coins from the bags and her bodice were all that she had now. Not enough to purchase loyalty or freedom. Barely enough to keep fed for a few weeks, but not enough to stay warm, too. Food was of no use if she was dead from the cold, she could not live outdoors for the rest of winter, waiting for King George to come to the manor house at Longbourne, and she could not travel across the kingdom to his castle in the middle of winter.

Sharp realization began to cut into her. Up to now she'd only played at being afraid. She may have dreamed of adventure, but the reality of being hunted and cowering was not mentioned in her childhood books. They described the triumph, not the dirt, the tears, or the fear that frequently surfaced in her mind once she sat still for too long.

There were footsteps in the hall. Belle scrambled to hide in the closet, but tripped on the mess she'd made, painfully striking her knees on the plank floor.

"It's only me, girl. Calm down." Granny scolded from the doorway. "They're gone for now. Put your things away, you're not going anywhere tonight. The winds are up and it's going to blow colder soon, anyway."

"I'm sorry if I scared the girls." Belle sniffed. "Or broke a plate."

"Those girls have seen scarier things than a woman run from a room. And you can clean extra to make up for the plate." Granny handed her a clean kitchen cloth to wipe her face. "I just came to tell you that some of the village women talked to that soldier outside. Might want to see to your horse, keep him ready."

Belle got up off her knees and stood. "My horse isn't even here right now." She shook her head at herself. "I couldn't have left anyway."

"Where is it? You didn't sell it did you?"

"No, I loaned him to a friend for the day."

Granny saw the slight softening in Belle's face. "You be careful. And don't make me regret hiding you."

"I won't. I promise."

Granny left and Belle pulled her heavy dress from the bag. The little tears and snags in the wool still needed mending. Rumplestiltskin's spool of silvery- blue thread still sat on top of the drawers, waiting to be used, but she hadn't found the time yet. She would need to soon, for it would not stand much wearing without a few repairs unless she wanted it to unravel around her. Especially since she'd opened a few finger lengths of the seams where the coins were hidden and hid those in a bag under a floorboard.

Her nails bent as she pried the board up and tucked the bag at the bottom of her travel satchel. She looked at her hands. The skin was tight and hard across her fingertips. She doubted she could even hold a needle properly right now, and certainly not without jabbing herself or bleeding onto her dress or Rumple's lovely thread.

With an exhausted sigh, Belle dragged the drawer back to the dresser, cleared the floor and shoved her half full bag in the corner. Then she crawled into her cot and fell into a chilly, uncomfortable sleep.

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Happy New Year!


	13. Chapter 13

I'm behind on review replies. Sorry! You've all been so lovely. Big chapter here...

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"How much longer, Papa?"

Rumplestiltskin smiled up at his son. "Not much father. You see the gate there? That keeps in the sheep and it means we're almost home."

They had done quite well today. The ladies had indeed liked the colors and the bag had more silver than he'd expected in it. He bought more supplies than he'd planned, and still had enough to buy shirting for Bae. On a whim, he'd even thought of a way to repay Belle for the use of her horse.

The color had caught his attention first, then the fact that it was a sturdy weave that could layer easily. But the color, bright for a peasant but just right for a perfect for such a pretty woman like Belle, was just the right shade to match her eyes. He didn't even have to think about it- he just knew. For two silver coins, barely a fraction of what a cart would have cost, he bought enough of the fabric to make a full skirted dress with laced sleeves for the cold and, his face burning, some softer shirting so he could make a shift to go with it.

It was not an elaborate gift, but it was enough to repay the favor and, hopefully, convince her to visit and use his thread to sew her dress. She truly seemed to not understand what she did for him.

"Do we need to buy more wool, Papa?"

"Yes, Bae. Lots more." Rumplestiltskin's walk was proud. "The wheel is better since I fixed it, and I can go even faster. I have enough dye to do lots of colors, and the ladies are willing to pay for that." He held the reins lightly and managed to keep pace with the horse's loping gait. He'd never felt so well after a trip to Longbourne, and even with the night cold settling in, he felt like he could walk for hours yet.

"Can I try to make thread?"

"Of course Bae. All you have to remember is-" He was cut off abruptly by the sound of hooves rumbling towards them. He tugged the reins and moved them off the road. "Budge, Friend. Move over."

A team of horses came to a skidding halt beside them. "Look who it is! Good eve, Rumplestiltskin." Hordor shouted with a slight slur. "What brings you out so that I could not get rope from you today?"

"I-I was at Longbourne. I made a sale at the manor."

"Ah, the pretty ladies and their needlework." Hordor scoffed. "They say your thread makes their tapestries come to life. One swears the pictures move, but I think court just breeds cross-eyed bitches." The men laughed, and Rumplestiltskin winced.

"If you need rope, I can have it ready in the morning."

"Forget it. We'll be back in a fortnight. Right now I need the comfort of a warm bed and a warm whore." He spun and spoke to his men, wobbling in the saddle enough that Rumplestiltskin thought he might fall. "The tavern wench with the sharp tongue has me feeling needy but I prefer one without a guard that brandishes a wooden spoon."

"What about the other?" One of the men shouted.

"Bah. Catty women in a village say anything. We'll check next time we pass through, but I doubt the old woman would let it under her roof." Hordor turned back to Rumplestiltskin and eyed the horse. "The clerics must be paying you too well." He shrugged. "Not my coin. If those hooded fools want to pay so much for rope, so be it." Hordor reached between his legs and adjusted himself, spit, and snapped his reins. "A fortnight, Spinner! Hyah!"

The rest of the men followed, whooping and swaying in their saddles.

"They sounded funny, Papa."

Rumplestiltskin stared as they faded, then listened to be sure they were truly gone before leading the horse back onto the road. "Yes they did, Bae. They were drunk."

Bae rubbed his runny nose. "I think they're nicer when they're drunk. What do I need to remember when I spin thread?"

Still confused by the conversation, Rumplestiltskin drew a blank. "I forget, Bae. Let's get the horse back to the stable before it gets any colder."

…

…

Belle's mouth fell open. "But, why?"

Granny put more sugar in Belle's tea and stirred for her. "I told you not to get friendly, girl. Women here have too much to lose without having to worry about you turning their men's heads."

"They think… that? Really?"

"They may not, but it's a good threat. The best, if you want the competition gone." Granny pushed the cup towards her. "Get some warm in you. You'll need it."

"Why?"

"My girl, they said they would tell the clerics if you didn't leave. If the clerics come here…" Granny shuddered and sipped her tea.

Belle's eyes began to burn. "But why would they say those things?"

Granny set her cup down. "You're a strange girl with no family in a village where no one leaves. New people simply don't come here and stay. You don't look like us, you don't sound like us. And," Granny sighed. "You spend your time with the outcast. They assume you must be one too."

With quaking hands, Belle took her cup and sipped. It was insipidly sweet and made her gag. "So I'm the town whore now?"

"Are you? I thought I kept you too busy for that."

Belle made a very unladylike snort. The tears came silently.

"Now, now. You haven't got much time for that." Tears gave way to hopeless sobs. "Girl, I tell you, you haven't got time."

Between her heaving breaths, Belle choked out her words. "Then what am I to rush for? Be chained and beaten? Shall I run into the snow storm outside and wait to die?"

"No, stupid woman!" Granny stood and took her by the arm. "You do what they want you to do."

"What would that be?" The bitter words stung her lips. Granny dragged Belle to her bedroom and flung open the closet door.

"Be an outcast. They wouldn't care that you were a whore if you acted like one. Stop gaping at me like a fish, I don't mean that." Granny pulled Belle's cloak out of the closet and wrapped it around her. "I mean keep to the shadows, stay out of their way, don't talk with them, and don't be so dignified about everything. It's your grace they don't like, so pretend like you don't have any."

"But where am I to go? I have nothing." Tears began to well in Belle's eyes.

Granny clucked her tongue. "You are a dense one." She shoved Belle's last few things into the satchel. "You have the eye of the only man who can protect you. Hide with him, and no one will care." Granny shuffled to the doorway and looked down the hall.

It was so sudden, so much more than leaving home, and so much more wrenching. She wasn't noble or saving anyone now, she wasn't a hero. She was just Belle. And no one would care. No one except…

While Granny checked to make sure the guest rooms were empty, Belle glanced around the room. She spotted the spool of silvery thread on top of the chest of drawers and snatched it, clutching it tightly as her vision blurred.

Granny came back into the room, and the bag was closed and latched. "Leave your horse. The stable boy will look after him until you need him. A few coppers will take care of it. Come with me." Granny tossed the satchel over her arm and pulled Belle by the shoulder to the kitchens. She filled a basket with food, loaded the satchel onto Belle's back and dragged her to the front door, both ignoring and encouraging her crying.

Granny bent to whisper in her ear. "Send the boy for food when you need it. Now, make it look convincing. There's already a crowd." She pushed the basket in Belle's hands and took her by the hood of the cloak.

There was, indeed, a cluster of women by the tavern and a few more lingering in the town square despite the bitter wind and blowing sleet. Belle needed no help looking pathetic and small as Granny physically dragged her out the front doors, pushed her towards the square and onto the cold, hard stones. She slid across the slick ground, and felt a light kick to her leg.

"Get out you little whore! Don't show your filthy face here again!" Bell picked herself up and remembered not to brush the dirt from her skirts. She snatched up the basket and skidded toward the town square. Granny yelled again. "That's right, slut! Run to your cripple! Hurry to your new master!"

Belle ran, avoiding shoves, buffeted by the wind that muffled the jeers of the village and knocked her over and as she made her way across the square and by the lines of houses. The yelling died out as she got closer to the edge of town, nearer to the forest's edge where a small chimney stuck out above a little thatched roof. It was nothing, but so much more than she had.

How was she to defend her father or her countrymen now? What did she have that could earn anyone's trust in her word, her status, or her worth at all? She was merely the whore in the village, and hunted quarry outside of it. Protected or not, she was nothing.

Crying, ashamed, and covered in filth, Belle approached the house and clung to the logs of the outer walls to stay upright as she fought to stay on her feet in the blizzard. The door was still protected by bales, and she found refuge there from the wind as she gathered her courage to knock.

…

…

The wood pile in the house was tall enough to last a few days, even in the poor weather, so Rumplestiltskin leaned back in his chair and enjoyed a quiet morning. He was a little achy from the walk, but could hardly complain for normally he would be in agony for days from the trip. He had a cup of tea in his hands, more waiting by the stove, and plenty of food for some weeks, provided Bae's snares netted a few rabbits.

Bae played with a small toy, his first in years, trying to catch a ball in a cup, still bested by the thing after an hour of trying. A funny feeling crept into Rumplestiltskin's bones, and he could only dare to dream that it might be contentment. His eyes drifted closed, and he rested his head on the back of the chair for a moment, listening to the crackling fire and feeling the warmth of his cup in his hands.

"Papa?"

"Hmm?" He stretched his legs out and crossed his ruined ankle over the good one.

"I think I hear something outside."

"It's just wind, Bae. There's a blizzard outside."

"No, Papa." Bae insisted. "I think I heard the door!"

Rumplestiltskin sighed. It was just like a child to demand that you get up just as you were dozing off. "Fine. I'll go check, but if there's nothing there, you can clean up all the snow that gets blown in."

He took up his staff and limped up to the door, unbarred it, and pulled the latches.

The snow and wind blinded him for a moment, but there she stood. His Belle was on the threshold, dirty, shivering, and weeping. She buckled under a weight and pitched forward.

"Belle!" He caught her just as she fell. "Bae, the door! Quick!" The snow blew in over them both until Bae wrestled the door closed. Belle shivered violently in his arms, in only a work dress from the kitchens and her cloak. "Belle, what happened?"

Her teeth chattered too hard for her to speak.

Her hands were tightly clenched, so Bae pried a half crushed basket from her hands as he unlatched the straps to her pack and left it on the floor. Her cloak was barely fastened and fell away. Using his staff and Bae's arm, Rumplestiltskin got up off the floor and pulled Belle to her feet, guiding her to the chair she sat in by the fire. When she was sitting, he and Bae piled blankets around her and pushed her chair as close to the fire as they dared.

"Can you talk now, Belle? Please, tell me what happened?"

She drew a shuddering breath. "They cast me out. Chased m-me across the square."

Bae's eyes widened and Rumplestiltskin knew it was no time for his son to ask well-meaning questions. "Bae, why don't you go and warm up more water and lay Belle's cloak out to dry?" The boy left reluctantly, deeply interested in the details of adult life.

Once Bae was gone, Belle leaned over her folded arms and let out a muffled sob against the blanket in her lap. "I have nothing. I am nothing."

Rumplestiltskin went to his knees beside her. "Please don't say that. You're a fine woman."

She shook and hiccupped. "I'm n-not even that anymore."

"What?" He tried to understand, seeing only the lovely, kind woman he'd come to quietly adore. "You're far too good for this place." The village, his home, any place he'd ever been.

"No, Rumple. They…" She sat up, her back as straight as she could muster as chills continued to wrack her small body. "They c-called me a..." She couldn't even say the word. Her jewel-like blue eyes, tear-bright and rimmed with red, finally met his. "I'm n-not."

He wrapped his hands around hers. "I know. I never thought that." Whether anyone believed it or not, it was a damning accusation. Part of him actually hoped she might have a lover or family coming for her, for it would save her from so much pain. Another very, very small and long suppressed part of him held its breath. "Your bag?" He prompted, recalling the unimpressive weight of it.

"All I have." She stared at the fire over his shoulder. "I have nothing and nowhere to go. I've been shut out."

Rumplestiltskin looked down at her hands, wrapped, protected, by his own. Warmth at his back and food in his larder gave him confidence, but it was so wrong- wrong that her misfortune should bring him comfort. He felt his lips trembling.

"So you need… a home?"

She dropped her chin, letting a mass of hair fall free from the ragged braid. Her reply was so low he might have imagined it were he not close enough to feel her breath on his arm. "Yes."

It knocked the wind from him and he fought to speak. "Would you have mine?"

Even softer. "Yes."

He could offer this, he could protect her. He squeezed her finally warming hands with his and bent, intending to kiss the raw, cracked skin abused by the cold and cruelty. Something glinted from the space between her thumb and forefinger, gripped tightly enough to blanch her knuckles. He pried open her hands.

It was the spool of light blue thread he'd given her.

"Oh, sweetheart." He wrapped her fingers around it again. "We're going to be just fine, Belle. You'll see."

.


End file.
